Take Two
by AmyI
Summary: Things are looking great. When Celia returns home from college she finds a family in financial ruin, a matchmaking aunt, and an ex who's returned to town set on making her life miserable. Can things get any worse? Or will this be another chance?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Celia turned into the driveway of her father's home and parked in front of the door. She debated honking, but knew her father and sister would never let her hear the end of it. Getting out of the car, she walked slowly up the steps to the door and stood there, staring at it. 'How have we come to this?' she asked herself, looking up at the house in front of her. 'At one time, we were the most wealthy family in north Chicago. And now I have to collect my squandering family to attend a meeting with a financial planner who will most likely tell us that after we sell the house -- and everything else -- we'll have to make do with very little.' She laughed to herself. 'At least I know how to do that already,' she thought. 'College was good for something after all.'

She walked in the front door and called out, "Father! Claudia! We need to go!"

There was no answer.

She walked down the hall to the dining room, where she found her father and sister sitting at the table surrounded by glossy pieces of paper. "What are you doing? Didn't you hear me? We need to be that the financial planner's office in fifteen minutes."

Henry ignored her and shoved a brochure over to Claudia. "Have you seen this? It looks like it has an indoor pool!"

"Oo," Claudia squealed. "It even has a dog walk in the back! It looks divine. We should definitely tell Susan we want to see that one."

"Are you looking at homes?" Celia asked in spite of herself. "I thought you were going to let Aunt May help you with that."

"Oh, Celia, when did you get here?" her father asked, and looked up at her in surprise. "Of course we're looking for a new house. Where else do you think we're going to live? In an apartment?"

"Actually, Dad, yes."

"Oh my, look at the time." Henry glanced at his bare wrist. "We must be going. And I thought I told you to call me Henry. 'Dad' is so outdated."

"Yes, Henry," Celia sighed. "Are we taking my car or yours?"

Claudia shuddered. "I am not riding in that thing you call a car," she said. "We'll take Daddy's. It's much better with my complexion."

"Of course we will, Claudia," Henry said, patting her hand. It looked to Celia like he was petting his french poodle. "I don't want to ride in your sister's car either."

Celia sat in the back seat on the way to the meeting. She knew things shouldn't bother her after all this time, but why did her father -- well, Henry -- treat Claudia and Cassie like members of the family, while he seemed to see her as some sort of interloper come to ruin all their fun? It wasn't her fault they were in this mess; no matter how many times Aunt May had told them to economize, they had spent her father's fortune on ridiculous things like spa vacations for the dogs and fancy cars to match their new clothes. 'At least I'm not going to have to live with them in their new lifestyle,' she thought wryly. 'Although that could be entertaining on its own.'

When they arrived, Celia bought a newspaper and followed the others into the office. She sat in a chair near the window far from Henry ("You'll get too much sun over there, Celia") and flipped open her cell phone. There was already a message from her aunt.

_Glad to see you made it with the posse._

Celia smiled. _How bad is it?_

_Bad._

_And?_

_Sell everything. Move into apartment. Eat generic food._

Celia smiled and looked up. Aunt May raised a finger in hello while seeming to talk to Henry. Some things never changed. Celia put the phone away and scanned the front page of the _Tribune_. Another homicide; corruption in city government. 'Good old Chicago,' she thought fondly. 'I wouldn't want to live anywhere else.' She opened the paper to the third page out of habit, and looked for Hank Conner's columnist before she remembered that he'd retired the week before. But there was something already in the usual spot, something about a new columnist who'd just moved to the big city. Her eyes traveled up to the top of the page to the byline. Thomas Elliot.

The paper slipped through her fingers and landed on the floor in a soft heap. Thomas Elliot? Tom? Her mind raced back to the last time she had seen him.

It was seven years ago, and they were in his car, an old, beat-up thing they called the Hulk. He was staring straight out the windshield, not looking at her.

"What do you mean, you can't marry me?"

Celia swallowed, nervous. "We're just too young."

"Who said that, you or your aunt?"

She paused. "Me."

"Liar." He turned his head so fast she could almost hear it crick. "She said it, and then she made you believe it."

"It's not like that," she plead. "You don't understand. I do love you. It's just --"

"Then let's get married. Tonight. We can go off to college next week like we planned, and by the time they find us it'll be too late."

Celia looked down at her hands, knuckles white around the ring he'd given her only three days before. "I can't."

Suddenly Tom's hands were on her shoulders. "I thought you said you loved me."

Celia looked up at him and saw the panic in his expression. "I do love you," she whispered. "But we're so young. Maybe we should wait a few years, give us some time to get established. Then we'll be more ready." Aunt May's voice rang in her ears. _'And then you'll have come to your senses.'_

"Please, Celia," Tom begged. His fingers tightened almost painfully on her arms. "Don't do this to me. Don't do this to us. If I let you go now, you'll find someone else and I'll never see you again."

Celia's throat was dry, but she couldn't stop from swallowing. This was more painful than she had imagined; it was more painful, almost, than when her mother had died. "Maybe it's better that way." She took his hand off her arm and placed the ring into it, closing his fingers. "I'll always love you, Tom. Never forget that."

And then she left the car and watched as the Hulk sped as fast as its antiquated engine allowed down the street and out of her life forever.

"Celia! Celia!"

She blinked and looked around. She had almost forgotten where she was.

"Have you been paying attention to anything I've been talking about?"

Glancing at Aunt May, she said the first thing that came to her mind. "Sell everything. Move into apartment. Eat generic food."

May turned her laugh into a cough fairly well, and Henry looked away, mollified that she had been paying attention after all. Celia bent over and picked up the paper. There was a picture above the byline. It was an older version of the man she had said goodbye to that night seven years ago. Thomas Elliot.

Henry was uncharacteristically quiet on the way back to the house. He drove slowly and took the side roads, looking at the passing houses with wistful regret. Celia looked out the window with him and watched the homes of her former friends pass by. There were many empty ones.

"It just doesn't feel right, leaving." Henry's voice sounded almost regretful.

"What doesn't feel right?" Celia asked, curious. Henry didn't usually express feelings other than satisfaction and pride. She doubted that he had any others to express.

"Celia? Have you been here the entire time? I thought you left with May."

"No, Henry. Claudia went with May. They'll meet us back at the house." She paused. "What doesn't feel right?"

Henry sighed, a great, heavy, why-do-these-things-always-happen-to-me sort of sigh. "Leaving all our things behind. I like my things. And what will the neighbors think, with us gone? The neighborhood won't be the same."

Celia rolled her eyes. The neighbors had their own houses foreclosed on months ago. "I doubt anyone will notice, Henry. You aren't all that sociable."

"True," he replied. "What with all the staff leaving us, we haven't been able to give parties like we used to."

Celia ignored that comment. "Where are you thinking of living?"

Shrugging, Henry pulled into the driveway. "Somewhere fashionable, of course. We're to see a real estate agent tomorrow. I'm sure we'll find something suitable."

'I highly doubt that, given your allowance,' Celia thought. "I suppose I'd better stay with May until I find something for myself, then."

"I suppose," he said absently. "Or you could stay with Claudia and Michael. I'm sure they'd take you." He stopped the car at the top of the driveway and got out, leaving Celia to turn off the car.

She didn't doubt that Cassie would want her to stay with them; ever since her marriage to Michael three years before, Cassie had been begging her to visit. She just didn't know if she could stand several weeks of Michael's sisters living two flights down.

May and Claudia drove up as she was starting up the walk toward the door. She paused as Claudia brushed past her. May was a few steps behind, and held her outside.

"What happened?" May asked. "You turned white as a sheet and then you spaced out for a minute back there. Was the paper particularly bad today?"

"No," Celia said quickly. "I was just ... thinking." She did not want to think about Tom Elliot. Not now, with his picture in the paper she held under her arm. "What are we going to do with Henry and Claudia? You know they'll never live by the terms the financial planner set for them. Where are they going to live?"

"You leave that to me, dear." May patted her on the arm. "I'll go with them tomorrow to look at apartments -- and yes, I'll make sure they only look at things they can afford."

"Maybe I should come with you."

"No, no. Your father would be surprised at your presence every time you got out of the car. No, you had better stay here and get ready."

"Ready for what?" Celia started to feel the old panic. Surely, with all that was going on, May wouldn't think to ...

"Why, your date, darling. Didn't I tell you? I have the most wonderful neighbor boy who's just your age. He's coming by my house to pick you up tomorrow night at seven."

'Oh, for the love of Pete,' Celia thought. 'How can a woman be so with it in so many ways and then turn around and act prehistoric?' "May. Please. I don't have time for blind dates. I have to get the furnishings ready for auction by Friday."

"Oh, come now," May smiled. She brushed an invisible piece of lint off her suit coat. "It'll just take a few hours. And Maurice is such a nice boy. You can take him to that Mexican restaurant you like so much. Now, what are you going to do once the house is empty? You know you're always welcome to stay with me."

Celia knew exactly what would happen if she lived with May. She'd never find a job ("You don't have to work, darling. Let me find you a nice rich boy to take care of you") and she would spend the rest of her life going on blind date after blind date. "No," she said quickly. "I think I'll bunk up with Cassie for a while, until I can get a job."

"You don't have to -- "

"Yes, I do," Celia said. "I appreciate the offer, and I'll go out with Maurice, but I am going to stay independent."

May opened her mouth as though to protest but evidently thought better of it. "Well, if you ever need me, you know where to find me," she said finally. "I have Oscar lined up for you on Thursday, so I'll be in touch." And with that she glided up the stairs, leaving Celia behind her.

Celia stared after her aunt. 'This is getting ridiculous,' she thought. 'If I go on any more blind dates I think I'll scream.' She knew, though, that very little would stop May once she had set her mind on something. It couldn't take too much out of her to grin and bear it, ... right?

Fortunately Cassie was thrilled with the idea of Celia living with her, even on a temporary basis. "I'm so excited!" she squealed. "Wait until I tell Michael. He'll be so glad!"

Celia smiled and tucked the phone back under her ear. She had been going through the things in the library, setting a few books and pictures aside to place in storage to wait until she found a new apartment. "How is Mick?"

"He's great. He just got a promotion, and we're both thrilled. Right now he's in Toronto on business, but I can call him right away and tell him your good news."

"Thanks, Cass. I appreciate it. I won't have a lot of time, though; I need to find a job and then an apartment."

"A job?" Cassie sounded confused. "What do you need a job for? Fuller girls don't work."

"Well, this one will. I have an interview next week at the library where Jen works, and she thinks it shouldn't be a problem. But I can hang out with you until things are settled. Will that be all right?"

"I guess," Cassie replied slowly, and perked up. "We'll have such a fun time. I've been wanting someone to go shopping with besides Lauren and Rachel." Michael's sisters lived in the same complex as Cassie, and while they got along, the Tanner sisters didn't think too highly of Cassie and it showed. Celia knew they thought Michael could have chosen a more sensible wife.

"Sounds fun. I'll see you on Saturday, then. Did you want to come to the house and help with the auction? You might find something of mother's you want to keep before it all sells."

"No, that's all right. I got everything I wanted when we got married. Oh, that's the other line. See you soon!" And the line went dead.

Celia sighed. It looked like once again she would be taking care of business for the Fuller estate. At least May would keep Henry and Claudia away for the weekend, looking for apartments (or, as Henry called them, alternate living arrangements). As long as she could get through the latest blind date, she'd be all right.

She opened up the newspaper to the third page. There he was. She sat in her mother's old chair and settled in to read. He was going over his career, she assumed to assure his new readership that he was qualified to talk about life in Chicago in a competent manner. He had gone to Northwestern (thank goodness she'd had the good sense to go to school out of state) and had received his master's in journalism. He'd written for a few papers in smaller towns before

_"I landed this gig. It's strange to be back in the city you grew up in. So much has stayed the same, and yet so much has changed. It's always hard to return to a place that both made and broke you. Some things you just have to let go. The last day I was in Chicago before leaving for college was the day my fiancée broke our engagement off. I rather hope she's moved to the other side of the universe and our paths will never cross again. Knowing my luck, she lives down the street and I'll see her tomorrow at the grocery store._

_"Then again, with my luck, she married the guy who lives in the house next door."_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Celia managed to sneak out of May's house almost before her aunt woke up. As she crept out the front door she heard a chirpy, "Don't forget your date tonight!" echo behind her.

Celia shook her head fondly. She dearly loved May -- she was too much like her mother for her not to -- but sometimes her desire to see Celia happily married and settled grated on her nerves. May had been setting her up on blind dates ever since her relationship with Tom had ended so horribly. At first Celia thought the dates were a peace offering, an attempt to apologize for interfering in her business. But as time went on, and the dates continued, she changed her opinion. May was setting her up to get her to forget Tom; she wasn't sorry for her actions at all.

Celia knew it wasn't really May's fault that she hadn't married Tom. If she had been stronger, more sure of herself, she would have done whatever she wanted and not cared that May, her father, Claudia (although really, when had she ever cared what Claudia thought?) and the rest of the family thought she was throwing her life away right out of high school. No, she had no one to blame but herself.

But, she decided, she was not going to dwell on it any more. That had all happened seven long years ago, and it was old news. Sure, Tom may have written about her in passing in his first column. He probably wouldn't do it again. And just in case, she wouldn't read any more of his columns. She would just have to remember to bypass page three of the newspaper from now on.

For the most part, the day was quiet. No one came to the house, leaving her alone to sort through years of memories that no one would miss but her. Her mother, Anne, had died when Celia was a freshman in high school -- the day after she had met Tom. 'Enough of that,' she scolded herself. 'It's only been two hours since I swore not to think about him anymore. And I already have enough to think about.' She opened the last box in the attic. It had been stuffed so far back that no one would see it until everything else was gone.

Inside were books. Not just any books, though; it contained all the books Anne had read to her as a child. She had thought they had been thrown out years before, but there they were: Little Women, Anne of Green Gables, The Velveteen Rabbit, all of the Mary Poppins books ... For the first time in seven years, Celia put her head in her hands, leaned over the box her mother had left her, and cried until she couldn't breathe.

By the time she got back to May's house that evening she was so tired she almost fell asleep at the wheel. 'This is ridiculous,' she thought. 'I haven't done any work today.' The storage company did all the heavy lifting. Just the thought of Maurice ('please,' she prayed, 'don't let him be too observant or he'll think I'm crazy') made her even more exhausted. But by the time the doorbell rang at seven o'clock, she was dressed and ready.

She changed her mind when she opened the door. Maurice, the latest man May was trying to get her to marry (at least until tomorrow) looked like an over-large basset hound. He was tall and thin, had long, thin eyes that drooped a little, and wore brown from head to foot. Celia repressed the urge to hand him a bone.

She glanced at May as they headed out the door. "I won't be too late," she said, throwing her a dirty look.

May just smiled. "Take your time. Have fun, Maurice!"

'Well, she wasn't dumb enough to tell me that,' Celia thought, looking at the man next to her. He walked very slowly and had yet to say more than 'hello.'

They sat in the car for what seemed like an eternity before Maurice finally spoke. "Where would you like to go?"

Remembering May's somewhat sarcastic suggestion, Celia thought of Jaime and the Tobiases. "Do you like Mexican food?"

"I suppose," he said, and they were off to Jaime's.

As soon as the door opened Celia was greeted with the familiar scent of peppers and tomatoes that she had fallen in love with the first time Tom had taken her there. She hadn't seen Jaime since she had left for college, but it still smelled -- and looked -- the same. Once they were seated, Jaime bounded over and pulled her out of her chair for one of his famous back-breaking hugs. "Celia! It's been way too long! Where's Tom?"

Celia staggered back to her chair, trying to regain the breath he had squeezed from her lungs. She shrugged.

Jaime took a long, distasteful look at Maurice, and then switched to Spanish. "Quien es?" (Who is this?)

"Alguien con quien May me mando salir." (Someone May's making me go out with.)

"Que paso a Tom?" (What happened to Tom?)

Celia just shrugged again.

"Ve te a la cocina," Jaime ordered, and hurried away. (Meet me in the kitchen.)

Maurice slowly lifted his eyes from the menu. "Does he always greet people like that?"

Celia laughed, nervous that he might have understood their short conversation. "No, I've just known him for a long time." She paused. "Do you speak Spanish?"

Maurice blinked at her. "No."

At least he didn't understand. And from the look of it, if he did, he didn't care. Celia wondered what May had promised him to persuade him to come on this date in the first place. "Will you excuse me? I need to use the ladies' room." Without waiting for a reply, she got up and almost ran to the kitchen.

Jaime and all his family were waiting for her. Jaime watched as everyone exchanged hugs and then sent them all back to work. "What have you been doing since you left us all those years ago?"

"College."

Jaime just stared at her.

"All right," she sighed. "I went to school in Michigan. I needed to get out of Chicago, and that was the only place out of state that accepted me."

"Did Tom go with you?"

"No." She was not getting into this. She still had a date in the dining room.

"Well, then where is he? Does he know you're on a date with another man?" Jaime sounded suspicious.

"I don't know where he is, and no, I'm pretty sure he doesn't care that I'm out." Celia rubbed her eyes, wishing she were home in bed. "Look, it was a long time ago. Maybe you can hear the whole story once the Cubs win the World Series -- "

"This year, they're gonna do it!" Jaime interrupted.

"And you'll just have to wait until then to hear it," she continued, ignoring his comment. They had watched many baseball games in his restaurant, and she knew better than to bait him. "All I'm going to say is that we broke up right after graduation, and I haven't seen him since." She turned to go.

"He was here earlier today," Jaime said casually, watching her.

Celia froze. Was he back in the old neighborhood? Surely columnists had to live closer to work -- at lease. Closer than here. Why would he choose to come back to their old stomping grounds, of all places? "That's nice," she said, trying to sound as though she didn't care. "Did he say anything?"

"Only that he was glad to be back in town, and that he was ready to find himself a wife."

So Jaime had known all along that she and Tom were history. She glared at him. "What are you trying to do? Don't go trying to play matchmaker on me, Jaime. All that happened a long time ago, and I'm not the same person I was then. I already have one matchmaker in the family; you stay out of it." She turned and stomped back to her comatose date.

The only noteworthy thing about Maurice was that he didn't ask any uncomfortable questions, even when his dinner came out suspiciously in the shape of a dog bone. If he noticed, he didn't say anything, and they parted quietly at May's.

When she closed the door behind her she heard May's voice a second before she saw her. "How did it go?"

Celia just shook her head.

"Oh, it couldn't have been that bad," May said.

"What did you do to him to make him come?"

"I didn't do anything but talk to his mother."

Celia tried to control the urge to throw something. "May, please. I love you like you were my own mother, but even you should know better. If you want to set someone up, talk to Claudia."

"_You_ should know better than that, Celia. Claudia will never marry. She's too focused on herself. You're the one that's going to end up a sad, bitter old maid. She's already bitter. She just doesn't care."

Celia started up the stairs. "And I suppose you know how to find a husband?"

May flushed. She had fallen for a man shortly after the Vietnam war, but he had dumped her when a richer girl had caught his eye -- and his empty wallet. "I know more than you think, young lady, and I am going to make sure the same thing doesn't happen to you." She paused. "You had better get some sleep. Oscar will be here for you tomorrow at three."

It was then that Celia lost it. She hadn't been really angry in a long time, but today, after going through the house, having a blind date stuffed down her throat, and finding out that Tom Elliot was living practically in her back yard, she had had enough. "That's it," she said though gritted teeth. "I am leaving in the morning to supervise the auction, and then I'm moving in with Cassie and Michael. You know where to find me when you can remember to stay out of my business." She stopped and then added, "And I am _not _going on any more blind dates." She turned on her heel and fled up the stairs.

The next day she watched as the auctioneer sold everything she had grown up with -- beds, cars, dishes, and more, including her mother's antique piano. She had debated whether to keep that piano or not, but knew that she didn't have anywhere to put it. She just hoped that whoever purchased it would love it, too.

By the time she dragged her things up to Cassie's, she was exhausted. She knocked on the door and leaned her head on the door frame. When Michael answered, she almost collapsed on him.

"Celia! I'm so glad you're here!" he exclaimed, squeezing her tight. She hugged him back. It was good to be with people who cared.

"Where's my sister?" she asked, looking around his shoulder into the foyer of the apartment.

"Downstairs with Lauren and Rachel," he said, and started pulling her suitcases inside. "Is this everything?"

"No, my computer is still down in the car," she said.

"Here, you start unpacking and I'll grab it for you."

Celia smiled at him, grateful for his kindness. "Thanks, Mick. You're a lifesaver."

He hugged her again and kissed the top of her head before he ran down the stairs. Celia thought she heard a door slam shut down the hall, but when she looked, the hallway was empty.

Monday morning Michael left the morning's paper on the kitchen table before he left for work. When Celia woke up and found it, she turned to page three out of habit and started reading before she knew what she was doing.

_"Spring is in the air, and to Chicagoans, that means baseball. And for us north siders, that means the Cubs._

_"Many of us know the sad, heartbreaking story of the Cubs' search for honor and glory. But for those of you who need a little reminder, here is an abbreviated tale of the curse on the Cubs._

_"The last time the Cubs made it to the World Series, Billy Sianis, who owned a local tavern, bought two tickets to game four of the series. For reasons known only to himself, he brought with him his pet goat Murphy. He and Murphy were initially let into the stadium, and even allowed to parade around the playing field (Murphy wore a sign that said, "We Got Detroit's Goat). They were even allowed to watch part of the game._

_"But by the fourth inning, people began to complain about Murphy's body odor. Billy and his goat were summarily ejected from the game._

_"Incensed, Billy put a curse on the Cubs, declaring that they would never play another World Series at Wrigley Field. And they haven't._

_"Now, thoughts of spring also bring thoughts of renewal and redemption. So I place a challenge to the Cubs and to all you reading this column. It is time to move on. Curse or no curse, the Cubbies can get where they want._

_"And if you, like me, have things in your past you would rather forget, now is the time. In my own experience, holding on to past mistakes can only hurt you in the long run. When I moved back here, I was dead sure that nothing was left to curse me. But I was wrong._

_"After I wrote last Friday's column, I was pretty sure there was no way on God's green earth that my ex could actually have married my next-door neighbor. Imagine my surprise when I opened up my door Saturday night to see her making out in the doorway next to mine._

_"After he disappeared, I slammed the door shut and tried not to pound my fist though the door. Only the thought that I'd have to replace the door stopped me. How could this happen? How could my past live next door? I should move out. But if I move, then she will have won again._

_"No one wants the past to haunt them. The goat is dead. The curse can broken. Things can change. And what am I, a mouse or a man? A mouse would run and hide. I am no mouse. So, my dear ex-fiancée, let the games begin!"_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

The paper slid from Celia's suddenly nerveless fingers. What did this mean? Was Tom actually living next door? Was he drinking his juice and eating his bagel this very minute not thirty feet from her? Maybe it was some sort of cruel joke.

She stood up abruptly, her hand going to her mouth. Her mind raced back to when she had arrived Saturday night. She had knocked on the door; Mick had answered; he'd taken her luggage in -- they would have been out of view; and they'd hugged. Had he kissed her on the head? Maybe the whole "making out" reference was some way to spice up an otherwise dull story. That had to be it.

But if Tom had seen all that, then he _must_ be living in the same building, if not actually the next door down.

She had to leave.

But where to go? The house was sold; that wasn't an option. And from the way she parted from May, that was no longer a choice, either. Besides, Henry and Claudia were staying there until they found somewhere else. No, she was stuck here until she found a job and then an apartment.

Thinking of jobs reminded her that she hadn't heard from Jen since her return to Illinois. She had met Jen while attending the University of Michigan and had roomed together until Jen had married Scott Tennant a few months ago. Jen had told her about a position recently opened up in the Mayfair Public Library where she worked, and had told her to submit her resume. Maybe she wouldn't be stuck in this crazy situation for long.

Checking the clock, she called Jen's cell phone. She answered on the second ring. "Celia?"

"Hey, Jen. How are things with the newlyweds?"

Celia could hear her sigh over the phone. "Absolutely wonderful." Jen laughed. "Would you listen to me? Next thing I know I'll be setting up all my single friends so they can understand why I act so spacey whenever I talk about marriage."

Celia grimaced. "No thanks. I've been on enough blind dates for several lifetimes."

"Oh, not May again." Jen was all sympathy. She had heard about the two years between high school and college when Celia had been at home fending off unwanted men while trying to get the courage to leave for college with no financial assistance. Henry had not been pleased with the idea of college; he thought education was overrated and, like May, that Celia should simply stay home and become a socialite. He hadn't been as forward as May had been in pushing the marriage issue, though.

"Yes, but I think I've stopped it this time. We had a major argument Friday after the latest guy turned out to be horrid. I told her I'm not putting up with it anymore, and left. I'm at Cassie's now."

There was a long pause. Celia could almost hear her friend thinking. "And how's Michael with that?"

"Absolutely fine. You know we have a very healthy respect for each other."

"Respect, yes, but isn't it a little awkward to live under the same roof as the guy who proposed to you and then to your little sister when you turned him down?"

Celia laughed. "Not at all. It never would have worked for us, you know that. Mick has always been more of a little brother to me."

"Not always. I still think that if you had met him before Tom --"

"Nothing would be any different," Celia finished for her. "Look, I was actually calling because I desperately need a job. I just found out that Cassie's next-door neighbor is none other than Tom Elliot."

Celia heard a loud thud followed by a rude word she rarely heard Jen use. "You're kidding."

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I just dropped the phone. I nearly passed out. Are you serious?"

Celia leaned her head on the cool refrigerator. "Yes."

"I'll see what I can do." Jen's voice changed, all business. "I already gave your resume to Sarah; I'll see if I can nudge it to the top. Why don't you meet Scott and me for dinner tonight? I'll cook."

Smiling for the first time in a week, Celia agreed. "That sounds great. I'll see you around seven." After she hung up, she put the phone down and stretched. Maybe things wouldn't be all that bad. Maybe she could successfully avoid Tom until she moved out. What had he said? _"Let the games begin." _ 'Well, it would be hard to play a game by yourself,' she thought. She no longer cared what Tom Elliot did.

On the way back to her room, she picked up the paper and ran it through the shredder. 'Games, indeed.'

After showering Celia heard Cassie muttering to herself in the family room. She padded down the hall to investigate.

"Hey, Cass. What are you up to?"

She was sitting on the floor, the head of a vacuum in her hands and her hair sticking up in little tufts. It looked like she had been in a fight with the vacuum, and the vacuum had won, hands down. "Trying to tidy up."

"Tidy up?" Celia's eyebrows raised. "You've never cleaned anything in your life."

Cassie slumped against the couch. "I know."

"So why start now?" Actually, Celia thought it would be a good idea for Cassie to learn to do regular-people things. She had been pampered all her single life by Henry, and now it looked like the trend was continuing in marriage with Michael.

"Michael thinks we should learn to economize."

Economize. She'd heard that word twice in one week, and it wasn't a word used lightly by people in her family. She waited for Cassie to continue.

"Michael is worried that what happened to Dad will happen to us, too. He wants to be sure we don't take anything for granted."

Celia looked around. The apartment was very nice -- almost 3000 square feet -- and was decorated in the latest styles. This was economizing?

Her thoughts must have been apparent, for Cassie rushed on. "Oh, he doesn't want to give up the apartment and live somewhere else. Mr. Tanner -- you know, Michael's father?"

Celia rolled her eyes. "Yes, I know Mr. Tanner."

"Well, he says we have an appearance to keep up. Michael just wants us to try to live without any help."

Celia's eyebrows lifted even higher. "Do you mean you've been getting extra money from your father-in-law?"

"No, no, nothing like that," Cassie cried, a little bothered by that idea. "I just mean without any _help_ -- you know, cleaning people, laundry people, that sort of thing."

"Oh." Celia looked around at the mess strewn across the room. "How's that going? Are you taking care of everything yourself?"

Cassie huffed. "Well, it's only been a few days. I'll get better at it as I go along."

Celia picked up a long piece of red string. One end appeared to be attached to a pillow; the other was would around the wheels of the vacuum. She would have to phrase this carefully. "Would you like some help? I would feel better pulling my weight around here to say thanks for having me."

A look of relief flashed across Cassie's face, followed closely by regret. "No, I couldn't let you do that. We're glad you're here. We couldn't have you work."

"Why not? There's a huge difference between me helping out with a little housework here and there and being a live-in maid." Celia sat on the floor next to her sister and started unraveling the string. "It really would make me feel better."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely, and I could show you the basics as I go." The pillow would never be the same, but at least the vacuum would still run. "I didn't know you owned a vacuum."

"It's new."

Celia nodded. Of course. She glanced again at the vacuum. It was one she'd seen advertised on television as the best of its kind. Trust Cassie and Michael to economize by buying an ultra-expensive vacuum. "Do you own cleaning supplies? Like for clothes, and for the bathrooms?"

Cassie led her to a small room off the kitchen. "This is my new supply closet," she said proudly. Stacked on the shelves was every cleaning solution known to man. Evidently Cassie had decided that if she didn't know what she needed, she better have one of everything on hand in case it came in handy.

"I'll take care of the apartment today, and I'll start the laundry tonight. Will that be all right?"

Cassie nodded, but then she hesitated. "Well, you can put off the laundry until later in the week if you want. The new washer and dryer won't get here for a few more days, and you'd have to use the ones in the basement."

"How many clothes need to be cleaned?"

Celia followed Cassie's pointing finger to a large pile of multi-colored cloth in the corner of the room. She had thought that was a chair covered with a strangely colored sheet. It reached almost to her waist. "I'll get started on it tonight."

Impulsively, Cassie threw her arms around her sister. "You're a lifesaver," she said, relief evident in her tone. "But you'll wait at least until after dinner, won't you? We're having guests."

Grimacing, Celia picked up the duster and furniture polish. Michael and Cassie entertained quite a lot. No wonder she had been so grateful. "Who are you feeding this time?"

"No one in particular. Just Lauren and Rachel, and some guy they're bringing with them. They say he's hot."

Hot guys always flocked to Lauren and Rachel. "No problem. But I'm going to Jen and Scott's at seven, so I won't be home for dinner. Will you need any help cooking?"

Cassie laughed as she walked toward her bedroom. "Of course not. We're having that delivered."

"Of course." Shaking her head, she got to work.

It took Celia the rest of the day to get the apartment back to its normal pristine condition, and by the time she raced to her bedroom to clean up and change it was almost time to go.

Her cell phone was buzzing angrily on the nightstand, though, so she grabbed it and checked her messages as she peeled off her dirty clothes.

The first was from Jen. "Hey, Celia, I have good news. Sarah wants to meet with you tomorrow at eleven for an interview. The only thing is that she's at the downtown branch all day, so you'll have to meet her at the Harold Washington library. I hope that won't be a problem. See you tonight!"

This was welcome news. It would be a pain to go all the way downtown, but with any luck she would be employed and on her own by the end of the month.

The second message was not quite as welcome. May's voice filled her ears. "I hope you're not screening your calls, Celia. I am very sorry you were upset the other day. But I have lovely news -- your father and Claudia found somewhere to live! Call me when you get this."

Celia had mixed feelings about Henry's news. She was glad that he had found somewhere to live, but she doubted that he had the ability to check his habit of self-indulgence. She called May back as she waited for the water in the shower to warm up.

May answered on the first ring. "Celia, I'm so glad to hear back from you. How are you enjoying your time with Cassie?"

"It's great. Listen, I only have a few minutes. What did Henry and Claudia find?"

With a huff, May said, "Well, they found a lovely home in Naperville that should suit them. It's fully furnished, and they can move in immediately."

"That's great." Celia sighed in relief. Naperville would be far enough away from downtown to keep Henry safe from the shops along the Magnificent Mile that beckoned to him with too much regularity.

"Well, yes, that part is good," May went on slowly. "But while they were out looking they ran into Ashley Smithwurte."

Celia turned off the water. Ashley Smithwurte was a woman several years older than she who had befriended Claudia and was looking for a wealthy husband. She had hoped that their recent financial troubles would have kept Ashley away. "I hope she just went away after lunch," she said, knowing that wouldn't happen.

"Not exactly. Claudia seems to think she'll be lonely with all her friends so far away, so she invited Ashley to stay with them for a while." Celia gasped. "Don't worry, darling. I'm keeping an eye on things at the bank as we agreed with the financial planner, and she can't do anything that I won't see immediately."

With a sense of foreboding, Celia agreed that there was nothing else they could do. Ashley hadn't done anything obvious, but the thought of her living in the same house as her father made the hairs on her arms stand up. The way she flirted with him was just unnatural. She was almost young enough to be his daughter. What could she possibly want with a financially strapped geezer?

"Oh, and Alex Stanfield is back in town. He asked after you."

Celia groaned. She had never actually met Alex Stanfield, but she had heard all about him since she was thirteen and he was fifteen. May had been trying to set them up for years, but for some reason it had never worked out, much to Celia's relief. May said Celia was avoiding him, and Alex knew it and did it back to her. "That's nice, May, but that would be a blind date, since I've never met him, and I already told you I am not going on any more of those. Look, I have to run. I have dinner plans in half an hour and I'm already late. I'll call you later."

Celia rushed through her second shower of the day and threw on the first clean clothes she found -- it was Jen and Scott, after all -- and called out a hurried farewell to Cassie, who was arranging flowers in the foyer as she flung open the door.

She ran right into Lauren, who looked down at her in distaste. "Celia!" she cried, almost as if she was surprised to see her there. "I haven't seen you in ages! Where are you going in such a rush? Don't you want to stay and catch up?"

Celia tried not to roll her eyes. "I have dinner plans, which I'm already late for," she said, trying to extricate herself from Lauren's surprisingly strong grasp. "I'll be sure to stop by later this week, okay?"

"Dinner plans?" Lauren seemed astounded that Celia would have something to do. "Well, that's nice. Before you go, you must meet someone. We met him in the garage yesterday! He's just moved in." Lauren finally let go of Celia and gestured behind her. "This is Tom."

Celia froze. So much for avoidance. She took a step back, almost stumbling into the wall. Recovering, she turned to the door and tried to remember how to breathe properly.

He was framed in the doorway, his hands holding onto the frame. He was taller, Celia noticed distractedly. And broader. When did _that_ happen? Well, it has been seven years, she reminded herself. People change in seven years.

His expression, though, was what caught her. That was exactly the same mocking look she had seen on his face countless times. She had never seen it directed at her before, though. She didn't like it. It made her uncomfortable, like he knew something about her that he shouldn't.

"Celia," he said. "Good to see you again."

Lauren pouted. She hated to be the last person to know things. "I didn't know you already knew each other," she said, looking up through her eyelashes at Tom. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Without taking his eyes from Celia, Tom said, "We knew each other a long time ago, and I haven't seen Celia in years." Then he turned his gaze to Lauren. "Is that everyone? I thought you had a brother around here somewhere." The mocking expression was even more intense as he said this. Why did he want to meet Michael so badly? Celia wondered. What was he trying to do?

As if on cue, Michael rounded the corner and shook Tom's hand before walking over to Cassie and kissing her. Tom's eyes flashed from Celia, to Michael, to Cassie, and back to Celia again. His eyes widened slightly, and then narrowed. He opened his mouth but evidently thought better of it and closed it again.

Deciding to make her escape, Celia hugged her sister and whispered, "Don't have too much fun without me." Cassie giggled, and Celia nudged past Tom, still lurking in the doorway, and almost ran down the hall.

Dinner with Jen and Scott was wonderful and depressing at the same time -- wonderful because it was nice to be out of the tension currently residing in Cassie's apartment building, and depressing because as she watched her two friends interact, she couldn't help but think that such marital bliss would never find her. Jen had married Scott just two months before, and she knew they were still in a state of newlywed bliss, but they had been friends for so long that their reactions to each other seemed normal, not gooey or sappy.

"How's your new job been going, Scott?" Celia asked. He had been given a job as an investment banker at the same company that handled her father's accounts.

"Very well," he said, leaning back and throwing an arm over Jen's shoulder. "I like the banking industry a lot." He laughed at Celia's grimace. "Not all of us can be bookworms like you two."

Jen poked him in the side. "Don't pay attention to him. He's just jealous that he can't keep up with us when we start talking about books."

Scott just laughed. "You wish that were true. I'll have you know that I've read more than you think I have."

"Sure, but comic books don't really count."

Scott just smiled. "I'll take that as my cue to wash the dishes."

Before he could stand up, though, Celia stopped him. "Could you have any access to my father's accounts?" she asked slowly.

Scott shrugged. "I might," he said. "I'd have to take a look at the names on the accounts. If you're on them I can get your permission to look things over without too much trouble. Why do you ask?"

"Well, I was thinking about Henry. I saw the papers -- there's no way he could have decimated his accounts that quickly. I just don't understand it. May keeps an eye on him, but she's not an accountant and wouldn't know what to look for. Would you mind checking it out for me? I would feel better knowing that someone I trust is keeping tabs on things."

"No problem." Scott winked at her. "I've always had this secret wish to be a private detective." He laughed as he left the room, taking the dishes with him.

On the way back later that evening, Celia's car finally stuttered to its death and refused to go any further. She knew there was no point in fixing it; the mechanic in Ann Arbor had been keeping track of its unexpectedly long life and kept emailing her, asking about the car's imminent demise. He would be pleased to hear that it had lived a full life, she thought. It was just too bad it couldn't have made it back the two miles left to the apartment.

When she walked in the door forty-five minutes later, tired and cold, she just hoped that everyone would be gone and she could escape to her room. But when she opened the door, she saw the entire group sitting in the family room. It looked like they had no intention of leaving anytime soon -- Cassie was snuggled next to Michael on the love seat, Rachel was on the phone on the floor, her shoes off and her legs lifted onto the couch next to Tom (had she come in with Lauren? Celia hadn't noticed), and Lauren was sitting as close to Tom as she could without actually sitting on his lap. No one turned when she entered the room but Tom. He shot her a smug look and moved the arm that had been on the back of the couch around Lauren's shoulders.

"Hey," Cassie said without moving her head. "You've been gone a long time."

Celia dropped her keys on the table. "Yeah, well, my car finally died and I had to walk the last few miles."

That got Michael's attention. "Why didn't you call?" he demanded. "Someone would have picked you up."

Celia smiled weakly. "Well, I didn't realize how far away I was," she admitted, "and by the time I did I was almost back. It's all right, Michael," she assured him. "I'll have the car towed tomorrow after my interview."

Cassie jumped up. "An interview?" she squealed. "Why didn't you say something?"

"I didn't find out until just before I left for Jen's. And don't get excited, Cass. I don't have a job. It's just an interview."

Cassie threw her arms around her sister anyway. "But wait a minute," she said suddenly. "If your car's not working, how are you going to get there?"

Celia paused. She hadn't thought that far ahead. How _was_ she going to get downtown tomorrow? "I guess I'll take the El," she said slowly. "I have to be at the library downtown by eleven."

"We can take you," Rachel said suddenly, flipping her phone closed. "We were all planning on going to the Sears Tower for old times' sake. It wouldn't be out of the way."

Celia smiled gratefully at her. She liked Rachel, who seemed to lack Lauren's gift for grating on her nerves. She had heard sporadically throughout her college years from Rachel, who was in an on-again, off-again relationship with a minor league baseball player. Ben had been invited to spring training with the Cubs in Arizona that year but hadn't been chosen. He was back in Iowa, hoping one of the regular players got hurt so he could finally get his big break. "That's very kind of you," she said finally, "but --"

"We could drop you off and then you could join us later for lunch. What?" she finished when Lauren shot her a dirty look.

"Come on, Celia. It would be fun. And we could get caught up on things." Rachel nodded to the phone. "I would like a chance to talk to you."

Celia glanced at Cassie, who shrugged. "Thanks," she said. "If you're sure I wouldn't be a bother, that would be a big help." She leaned over Cassie, who was sitting next to Michael again. "I'm off to the washers," she said quietly in her ear. "I'll see you in the morning." She left the room to collect the laundry, knowing no one would care that she wasn't sticking around.

Celia threw five loads in the washers, taking up all of them. 'Who would care?' she thought to herself. 'It's almost midnight on a weeknight. Who but me would be doing their wash at this hour?' She settled in with her book to wait out the washing machines.

When she got up to move the wet clothes to the dryers, she didn't hear the door to the laundry room open. She jumped when she heard someone clear his throat behind her.

"I'm sorry I startled you," said a familiar voice.

Celia dropped her load onto the floor. Was Tom purposefully trying to give her a heart attack? "That's all right," she mumbled, bending over to pick up the clothes.

He was suddenly beside her. "Let me help you." He stuffed the things into the dryer and turned to face her. She ignored him and turned on the dryers, leaving the washing machines empty for him. "They're all yours," she said, noting his laundry bag.

"Thanks." He was quiet as he focused, too hard, on sorting through his bag. Celia smiled to herself when she noticed a pair of red socks mixed in with his whites. When he was done, he came and sat down beside her, pulling out a pad of paper and a pen.

Celia watched him write out of the corner of her eye. Was this tomorrow's column? Maybe the next day's. She tried to concentrate on her book but the steady scratching of his pen kept distracting her.

Tom flipped over a piece of paper and said, very casually, "I didn't know you did laundry."

Celia closed her book. There was no point in reading, anyway. She had been staring at the same sentence since he sat down. "It's not my favorite thing to do," she admitted, "but I told Cassie and Mick I'd help out around the apartment."

"Mm." There was a long pause. "How are your father and Claudia?"

Tom had never cared about Henry and Claudia before. "Fine, I suppose. They've recently moved; from what I hear, they're doing well."

The scratching suddenly stopped, and Tom placed his notepad facedown on the seat next to him. He stared at the floor for a moment and then looked up at her, his face suddenly accusing. "You're playing a dangerous game, Cecilia," he said.

Celia blinked. "What game am I playing?"

"The game with Michael and your sister."

Celia continued to look at him blankly. What was he talking about?

"I saw you the other day," he went on. "When you were making out with Michael in the hall. That's a really terrible way to treat your sister."

Celia thought back to the column she had read that morning. "We weren't making out-- "

Tom went on as though he hadn't heard her. "I don't know what's between the two of you, but if you're going to have a relationship with your brother-in-law you should at least have the decency to do it where no one can see you."

Celia's mouth fell open. "Mick is like a little brother to me," she said finally. At his disbelieving look she said, "What you saw was a simple hug from someone who understood that I had had a rotten day. I have never wanted more than that with Michael, and he is very happily married to my sister." She turned away abruptly. "And I would appreciate it if you would keep your conjectures to yourself and out of the newspaper. Cassie doesn't read it, but I'm sure Mick does. He would be terribly embarrassed if he thought you had the wrong idea."

Tom got to his feet and held his hands up. "I didn't mean --"

"Yes, you did," Celia said, trying to keep her voice steady. She had imagined reunion scenes with Tom before, but it had never gone like this. "You meant that you thought I was sleeping with Michael behind Cassie's back. I would _never_ ... "

A few minutes later she heard the door to the laundry room close quietly. Tom was gone, his crumpled-up paper in the trash.

An hour later Celia finished Cassie's laundry. She turned to go, but the closed lids on the washing machines made her stop. She thought about Tom and his reaction to what he had seen. She supposed he would be justified in thinking what he did, but still ... She sighed and went to work.

When his last load was finished she started to fold his shirts. A blue and yellow t-shirt grabbed her attention; the word "Michigan" was splashed across it in bold collegiate letters. Why would he have it? she wondered. Northwestern and Michigan were rivals, of sorts. She thought about what she had given up and buried her face in his shirt. It was a long time before she trudged up the stairs, leaving Tom's laundry in front of his door before she escaped into Cassie's.

The next day she opened up the _Tribune_ to page three ('I can't help myself,' she thought to herself in dismay. 'It's becoming an addiction') and read Tom's latest column:

_The Curse of the Snap Judgment_

_by Thomas Elliot_

_Snap judgments are funny things. Everyone makes them; we don't really think about it. You see a blonde in the mall and assume there's nothing upstairs. You go into a store, take one look at the clerk, and assume he doesn't speak English. The guy your sister is dating is an engineer, and you assume that his social skills are so bad you wonder how he got a date in the first place._

_But these snap judgments are often incorrect. My boss is a blonde who happens to love shopping at the mall, and she is one of the brightest people I know. My favorite restaurant in the world is owned by a man who hails from Mexico, and his English is sometimes better than mine. (Don't tell my boss.) One of my best friends in college was an engineer, and he partied harder than the rest of us put together -- and is currently the only one married._

_Some of these snap judgments can come back to bite you. I witnessed an encounter in my apartment building not too long ago and assumed the worst, that the people involved were violating a trust, and that they were horrible, rotten, scum-sucking individuals of the worst sort. Imagine my surprise when I confronted one of these people and got the truth._

_The encounter I had witnessed turned out to be nothing more than a simple greeting between friends. I had been so willing to snap to the wrong conclusion that I failed to see what was really right in front of me._

_So to those innocent people I offer my sincerest apologies. I know my thoughts may not have offended or even bothered you, but to me they were wrong and deserving of my humblest apology._

_And the next time I see a blonde in the mall or speak with a person who has an accent or go to a party with an engineer I will try to remember how it feels to be a horrible, rotten, scum-sucking person of the worst sort._

Author's Note: I am not above begging for comments. If you like what you read (and if you don't, I'd like to hear that too) leave me a note!


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Celia put the newspaper in the drawer in her nightstand when she had finished reading Tom's column. This was the closest thing she was likely to get to an apology, so she figured she had better hold on to it.

After showering she rummaged through her closet. What kind of clothes did librarians wear? Jen typically wore business casual, but surely that wouldn't be suitable for a job interview. Just as she was going through her limited wardrobe for the third time, Cassie knocked on her door.

"Hey, Celia. What are you doing?"

Celia put the jacket she had been looking at back in the closet. "Trying to decide what to wear today," she admitted.

Cassie wandered over to the closet and peered into the half-empty space. "It looks to me like you need to go shopping."

Celia let out her breath with a huff. "I guess so," she said dismally. She hated shopping. There were too many choices and no matter what she picked out she always looked the same.

"Oh, come on," Cassie scolded. "It's not _that_ bad. I'll take you this afternoon after your interview. You can't go to work every day dressed in that." She swept her hand disdainfully in the direction of the closet and wrinkled her nose. "You would fit right in with the books, though -- dull and lifeless." Celia made a noise of protest -- surely she didn't look that terrible? -- before being cut off by Cassie. "Come on, it'll be fun. We'll celebrate your new job!"

Celia tried to stop her sister's enthusiasm, but she could tell it wasn't going to work. "I don't have the job yet," she reminded Cassie. "I don't want to get my hopes up too much."

Cassie just waved an arm in the air at her. "Don't be so pessimistic. You'll get the job. Let me look through my things and I'll find something you can wear today that will be more -- " she paused, looking Celia up and down in an appraising way, "flattering. Don't go anywhere." Then she skipped out the door, closing it behind her.

Celia sighed. There was no use arguing; Cassie was very good when it came to fashion and would do infinitely better at putting a job interview ensemble together -- as long as Cassie remembered she was taller by several inches . . .

She sat on the bed and started to go through one of the boxes she had brought from the old house. It had all her high school things in it, and she laughed when she found her senior pictures. Seven years hadn't changed her all that much, she admitted to herself. She might wear her hair a little differently, and the clothes were updated (well, not according to Cassie), but she looked mostly the same. She was slightly saddened by the realization.

Under her senior picture was an envelope with no markings on it. Curious, she opened the flap and watched as a photograph slid out onto her lap. When she picked it up, her heart gave a painful twist. It was the picture someone had taken at graduation, just after she and Tom had returned to the auditorium.

"Happy graduation," he whispered in her ear.

Celia looked at Tom sitting next to her in the auditorium filled with black gowns and hats. "Thanks," she whispered back. "Happy graduation."

Tom beamed at her. "I can't believe we're going to college in three months," he said. "Are you sure you don't mind going to the community college?"

Celia shrugged. "I don't mind. It's not like my dad would pay for it anyway. Community college -- I can afford that."

Frowning, Tom looked over the sea of parents to find an uncomfortable-looking Henry. Her father hated attending functions where he was not the center of attention, but May had forced him to come. "I think he'll come around," he said.

Celia just shook her head.

After receiving their diplomas Tom pulled Celia outside. He looked nervous and pale. Now that graduation was over and they would never have to enter the high school again, what could possibly be bothering him?

Tom took her left hand in his and kissed her on the cheek. She felt something cool slide up her fourth finger and pulled away in surprise.

"What's this for?" The ring glinted in the darkness. Her heart started to beat faster.

Tom cleared his throat. "An engagement ring." Celia looked up at him in shock. "I thought that since we were going to college together in the fall we might as well make things official," he finished with a rush.

The words seemed to hang in the air. "Engagement ring?" Celia repeated faintly. She felt like she needed to sit down.

"I love you, Celia. I'll always love you. Please, will you marry me?"

Celia swallowed. She did love Tom, almost more than she could contain, but -- "I'm only seventeen," she protested.

Tom smiled. "Not anymore. Did you forget? Today's your birthday!"

Celia blinked at him. With all the fuss about graduation and thoughts of college, her birthday had almost slipped her mind. It didn't help that no one in her family had seemed to remember, either. "Oh," she said. "Of course. But we're way too young to --"

Tom grabbed her hand again. "Don't you love me?"

Celia's answer was immediate. "You know I do."

"Then let's get married."

Looking up at him in the darkness, Celia caught her breath. How could she say no? He loved her when no one else would, and didn't care that she didn't fit in with most of the people back in the auditorium. For once in her life Celia tried to forget her fears and just feel happy for once. "Yes," she answered finally, and smiled. "I'll marry you."

Celia's thoughts were interrupted by Cassie banging on the door. "Open the door!" Cassie yelled. "I can't hold on to all these clothes much longer!"

Celia hurriedly stuffed the picture back in the envelope and slid the box under the bed. "I'm coming," she called. She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand, hoping Cassie wouldn't notice the tears still in her eyes.

***

Fifteen minutes later they were down in the garage waiting for Lauren and Rachel. Tom had appeared a minute before but hadn't said anything. He just stared at Celia with a surprised expression on his face.

"Doesn't she look great?" Cassie gushed, turning Celia around so he could look at her from all angles. "This is much better," she told Celia. "I really am taking you shopping this afternoon. You're so pretty when you get rid of all those dull colors. Isn't she, Tom?"

Tom just grunted. His eyes flickered to Celia's and then away again before she could read his expression. His attention was drawn to the stairs a moment later when Lauren and Rachel came clattering into view.

"Saved by the blondes," Celia muttered under her breath. She heard Tom snort next to her.

"Let's get going!" Lauren chirped, giving Cassie an air kiss and hugging Tom.

Rachel shot Lauren a reproachful look and hugged Celia. "You look fabulous," she said in obvious sincerity. "Where did you get the clothes?" Catching Cassie's smug look, Rachel laughed. "I should have known. Seriously, though, you look great. You'll be the best-looking librarian the Chicago Public Library has ever seen once Cassie's done with you."

Celia could feel herself blush and turned her head. "Thanks, Rachel. I really appreciate that." She took a deep breath. "Shall we go?"

After a short, intense discussion about seating arrangements (which Tom stayed out of) they were on their way, Tom and Lauren in the front and the other three crammed together in the back of Tom's car. "This is a nice car, Tom," Lauren said, stroking the leather seat. "How long have you had it?"

Tom shrugged. Celia could see his eyes in the rearview mirror glance at her when he said, "My old reliable finally gave up the ghost a while back, and I thought this would be a fitting replacement. You know, out with the old, in with the new, that sort of thing." His eyebrow raised in the mirror before he turned his attention back to the road.

After that Celia tried to tune out the conversation in the front seat. When she could take no more of Lauren's inane chatter and affected laugh she asked Rachel in some desperation, "How has Ben been doing? I haven't heard his name in a while."

Rachel sighed. "Ben's still in Iowa," she said. "To be honest, I'm getting tired of the long-distance relationship thing. He never calls when I'm awake, and I hardly ever see him."

"Surely he'll be called up soon," Celia said. She thought Ben was a decent baseball player, but the Cubs rarely seemed to think the same way she did.

Rachel sighed again and shrugged. "I've almost given up on him," she confessed. "He's a great guy, and we have lots of fun together, but I know I won't see him until September at the earliest. Maybe I should set my sights somewhere else." She cocked her head toward the front seat and grinned.

Celia tried to smile back. "That's too bad," she said. "I really liked Ben when you guys called last month. He seemed so . . . normal. Not like a major league ball player would."

"That's because he's not a major league ball player," Rachel pointed out.

"You know, if he ever made it to the majors, you'd see him even less," Cassie said. Celia and Rachel looked at her in surprise. "Well, it's true. Just because he's in the minors doesn't mean anything. Either you love him or you don't. If you don't, then break up with him and cut your losses. If you do, then it doesn't matter what he's doing or how often you see him."

There was a stunned silence for a split second until the car jerked abruptly into the center lane. "Sorry," Tom said, his voice sounding unnatural. "There was something in the way."

***

Jen was waiting on the front steps of the library when the car pulled up to the curb. Cassie kissed her sister on the cheek and whispered, "You'll do great!" before pushing her out the door. Tom rolled down his window. "Call us when you're done," he said, and finally looked directly at her. "Good luck." He smiled briefly before merging back onto the road.

"Are you ready?" Jen was breathless from her run down the stairs. "Who gave you a ride? I think I covet their car."

Jen rolled her shoulders to get some of the tension out. "That was Tom. Look, it's complicated," she rushed on, seeing the surprise on Jen's face. "Can we just talk about the interview? What kind of position am I applying for?"

"Ah . . . " Jen looked at the ground. "Didn't I already tell you? You're interviewing for the story lady."

Celia stopped in her tracks. "The what?"

Jen sighed. "Look, it's the only position open worth anything, and all your experience volunteering at the children's hospital really got Sarah excited. You wouldn't have set hours, and you wouldn't even be in the same branch every day. If I weren't already working here I'd apply for it." Jen gazed at her pleadingly. "Come on, Celia. You always said you wanted to work with children. This just happens to be a job dealing with a lot of different children every day."

Celia thought for a minute as Jen led her into the foyer of the library. Yes, she had always wanted a job that involved children. Could she do it? She glanced at her clothes and almost laughed. She'd need a much different wardrobe than the one Cassie planned on, that was for sure.

She felt a strange emotion as she walked down the hallway, Jen chattering happily at her side. It felt almost like hope.

***

An hour later the hope was extinguished. Sarah had proven to be an intense interviewer, asking Celia involved questions about the classes she had taken in college, her volunteer work at the hospital, and her dismal lack of experience. When Sarah shook her hand and told her she would call by the end of the week, Celia almost fled from the room.

Jen was waiting for her across the hall. She took one look at Celia's expression and laughed.

"Don't worry." She started down the hall toward the entryway, pulling Celia behind her. "Sarah always has that affect on people. Did she tell you she would call you or that the library would be in touch?"

That was a strange question, Celia thought. "She said she'd call by the end of the week."

Jen laughed, obviously relieved. "That's a very good sign," she said. "When she interviews someone who's not getting the job she tells them that the library will contact them. When it's someone good, like you, she promises to call herself. You've got the job."

Celia sagged down on the bench by the front door. "Do you really think so? You weren't in there. I felt like I was being grilled by a federal marshal."

"Trust me. Hey, call your sister to pick you up. I've got to get back to work. Promise you'll call when you hear from Sarah." After one last hug Jen was out of sight.

Celia rubbed her temples and dialed Cassie.

"How did it go?"

"Pretty well, I think. Are you guys finished with your sightseeing?"

There was a pause, and Celia could hear a muffled conversation in the background. "We just sat down for lunch at the Cheesecake Factory. Tom says he'll be by to get you in five minutes. I want to hear everything when you get here, okay? See you in a minute!" Cassie hung up before Celia could respond.

Celia sat in silence while she waited for Tom. She leaned her head against the window behind her, closed her eyes, and tried to think. So far things weren't out of control too badly. Sure, her ex-fiancée seemed to have a vendetta against her for something she had done too long ago for it to matter to anyone but herself anymore. And sure, he was sharing his feelings with the entire Chicagoland area. And maybe (well, almost certainly) he was flirting with her sister's sister-in-law. That was okay. She could handle that.

She jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder. "Celia? Are you awake?"

She raised her head to meet Tom's gaze. He wore a strange expression on his face, one she didn't understand. "Yes. I'm sorry I didn't meet you out front." She got to her feet and stumbled over the heels Cassie had insisted she wear. Tom grabbed her elbow to steady her, looked at his hand on her arm, and let go as if he had been burned. He strode hastily toward the door, leaving her to stare at his retreating back. "I'm double parked," he said over his shoulder by way of explanation.

The ride to the restaurant was silent. Tom kept his eyes on the road and didn't speak until they could see Cassie waving through the window of the restaurant. "I've got to run to the office for a while," he said, still not looking at her. "Do you mind if Cassie and the others take you shopping until I'm done? I shouldn't be more than a few hours."

Celia glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "That's fine," she said quietly. How could shopping be any worse than the interview she had just gone through? "Why don't you call when you're done and we'll meet you somewhere?"

"All right." Tom waited until she was safely in the restaurant before speeding down the street.

***

She was wrong. Shopping with Cassie was bad enough ("Stop trying on clothes that have no shape. Didn't they teach you anything in college?"), but shopping with Lauren was pure torture. It wouldn't have been so bad, she reasoned, had Lauren not tried on everything Celia did and looked a hundred times better in the same clothes.

When it was all said and done, Cassie had purchased the better part of a new wardrobe for her, against Celia's better judgment.

"I can't let you do this," she had said. "I thought you were trying to economize. Buying new clothes for your sister is not economizing."

Cassie looked offended. "I haven't seen you in five years, and I never once sent you a birthday present. Call it making up for lost time."

"That's ridiculous. Besides, I never got you a wedding present," she reminded Cassie.

"True," Cassie replied, unconcerned. "But then, Michael and I eloped, and you generally don't give presents to people who don't get married the traditional way."

"Not even for your own sister?"

"Not even for your own sister."

Celia had agreed in the end and tried to appear grateful. She doubted the clothes Cassie had purchased would look any better on her than the ones she already owned, but she had to confess it was gratifying to hear Rachel and Cassie tell her that she looked nice ("beautiful!" Rachel had exclaimed after Celia had modeled a black dress that was shorter than anything she had ever worn) for a change.

Tom called Lauren just as they were exiting the last store. Lauren smirked as she put the phone back in her bag. "He's running a little late," she told Rachel. "He says his meeting with his boss went longer than he thought, and he'll be another two hours."

Celia groaned silently. Two more hours? Maybe she should start walking home. Then she thought of those blasted heels . . .

"He said he'll take everyone out to dinner to apologize," Lauren continued.

Cassie's eyes lit up. "Two hours? That's perfect," she exclaimed. She grabbed Celia's hand and started dragging her down the street. "We have just enough time to do something about your hair."

Celia stopped walking and wrenched her hand away from Cassie's. "No hair," she said firmly. "There's nothing wrong with my hair."

"You're right, Cassie," Rachel said thoughtfully, completely ignoring Celia's protests. "We may as well do the whole package. When was the last time you had a haircut, Celia?"

"Two months ago," Celia replied promptly. "The night before Jen got married she dragged me into the bathroom and cut off -- " She paused at the look of horror on Cassie's face. "Well, haircuts are expensive and I was trying to save money," she finished.

With a click of her tongue Cassie grabbed her arm and forced her to walk. Rachel caught up to them and grabbed the other arm. Lauren, Celia noticed, trailed several feet behind, her phone to her ear again.

When they got to the salon Cassie handed her over to the stylist and told her not to make a fuss. "Francis is excellent," she assured her sister. "You'll look even more wonderful when he's done than you do now."

***

Two hours later Celia stood on the sidewalk in front of the salon feeling very self-conscious. Every man that passed looked at her in an appreciative manner. She wanted to hide back in the salon. Men never noticed her.

When Tom pulled up a few minutes later he took one look at Celia and almost drove the car onto the sidewalk and into a man walking past. He corrected hastily and got out to help put the shopping bags in the trunk. When the last pair of shoes (almost certainly uncomfortable, Celia knew) was tucked in with everything else, she finally spoke to him.

"You shouldn't have left me alone with those three. I may never be the same again."

Tom paused and looked sideways at her. "Maybe I should stick around next time." he said finally. He slammed the trunk closed and got back in the car.

Lauren started chattering as soon as everyone was seated. Celia let her head rest against the window, noting that she couldn't see Tom's face in the rearview mirror this way.

"So, how did things go with your boss?" Lauren put her hand on the gearshift.

"Fine," he said shortly.

"What took so long?"

Tom's voice became disgruntled. "We had a disagreement, and I wanted to be sure she understood my point."

Lauren's hand drifted to his arm. "What could she disagree with you about? I'm sure your articles are wonderful."

She must not have read them, Celia thought. Of course, they may sound better when they aren't about you.

"I want my columns to be less . . . personal, and she thinks the public likes the style I've written in the last week or so."

Celia's head jerked up. Was this never going to end? She had hoped that Tom would tire of writing about their strange relationship. Well, evidently he was but was stuck doing it for now -- and she was stuck starring in them. She really hoped this library job worked out; at least then she wouldn't have to face him every day in addition to everything else. And from the tone of his voice, he couldn't wait for her to move out either.

"Personal, huh? Maybe I'll have to start reading them," Lauren said playfully.

"Where are we going for dinner? Michael says he'll meet us there." Celia almost kissed her sister, who had been on the phone and not paying attention to the conversation.

Tom's eyes raised to look directly at Celia's in the rear view mirror in an undisguised challenge. "Jaime's," he said. "It's not too far from your dad's old place."

Celia smiled at him. She needed to apologize to Jaime anyway. With any luck Jaime would focus his matchmaking on someone else. She wondered what he would think of Lauren.

***

She hung back when they got to the restaurant and escaped to the restroom for a minute alone. As she washed her hands, she looked at herself critically in the mirror for the first time. It wasn't as bad as she had thought back in the salon when she had been shell-shocked by the shopping and the cutting and the making-over. It was shorter by quite a few inches, lying just past her shoulders, and the highlights weren't too bad; maybe it was the dim lighting in the restroom, but she thought she looked older, somehow. The senior picture she had looked at only that morning flashed into her mind. No, she didn't look the same anymore. It was amazing what several hours with a self-proclaimed fashion expert could do to a person.

When she got to the table the only seat left was next to Tom. She didn't look at him. Lauren, seated on his other side, placed her hand on his and looked up at him through her eyelashes. "I think it's so sweet that you're taking us all out to dinner," she cooed. "You've been stuck with us girls all day and I'm sure the last thing you wanted to do was spend your dinner hour entertaining everyone." She giggled. "Next time I'll cook you dinner. That would be much more relaxing."

He glanced at Celia before he smiled at Lauren and said, "That would be nice sometime."

Celia tried not to roll her eyes. She was glad when Jaime came to their table. He took one look at her and started talking as fast as she'd ever heard him.

"Look at you! This is a Celia I've never seen before! You are beautiful! You are gorgeous! The men, they will be falling all over themselves to get at you! I will get you a dog. You will need one to keep the admirers away. Maybe I'll get two -- "

Laughing, Celia said, "If you're not careful you'll give me a big head. Can we order?"

Jaime threw her a disappointed look and glanced down the table, noticing Tom for the first time. He turned back to Celia. "Sabe el que hablas Espanol?" (Does he know you speak Spanish?)

"Creo que no ." (I don't think so.)

Tom's mouth fell open. "I didn't know you spoke Spanish." He sounded irritated. She wasn't sure if it was because he knew they were talking about him and he couldn't understand or because there was something about her that he didn't know.

Jaime smirked. "Asi que no." (Evidently not.) He looked at Lauren, her hand still on Tom's, and his eyebrows raised almost to his hairline. "Quienes el flaco que esta pegada a tu Tomas?" (Who's the stick-person grabbing your Tom?)

"La suegra de Cassie." (Cassie's sister-in-law.) Celia felt slightly guilty as she watched Tom, who was obviously trying to figure out what they were talking about, but she couldn't help the self-satisfied feeling

Jaime looked more closely at Lauren and Tom. "No le gusta a ella," (He doesn't like her) he finally pronounced. "Se hace pesada." (She tries too hard.) Then, switching to English, he said, "May I take your order, miss?"

Tom shot Celia a dirty look and turned to focus his attention on Lauren. Jaime winked at Celia before he left for the other end of the table.

Celia pulled her phone out of her pocket to check the time. 7:00. The day was thankfully almost over. Before she could put it away it buzzed with an incoming text from Jen.

_Where are you?_

_Jaime's._

_The Mexican restaurant on Golf and Algonquin?_

_That's the one._

_Hold on just a second._

Confused, Celia looked up just in time to see Jen's head appear over the back of the booth in front of her. Before she could say anything Jen put her finger to her lips and disappeared.

The phone buzzed again. _Who's sitting next to you?_

Celia looked to her left. _Rachel._

_No, you idiot, the other side._

_Tom._

Jen's head reappeared. "Tom?" she mouthed. The phone buzzed again. _We'll be right over._

Celia froze. What was Jen doing here? And what was she going to do? She should have kept her big mouth shut while they were at school. Jen knew every detail of the whole sad business and had developed a healthy dislike for Tom even though she had never met him, no matter how many times Celia tried to explain that it hadn't been his fault.

A second later Jen materialized next to her chair, followed closely by Scott. "Celia! I'm so glad to see you! Scott was hoping he'd have a chance to talk to you today." She looked at the group of people around the table and then at Celia. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your friends?"

Celia rolled her eyes and made the introductions. Scott pulled two chairs next to Celia and sat down, pulling Jen into the other one. "I was actually hoping to see you this week," he said in her ear. "I have some news about your dad's account."

Celia smiled gratefully at him. "Thanks. I hope it's good news."

Shrugging, Scott lifted Celia's napkin and placed it on Jen's lap. "Just that you're listed on the account, so you have the legal right to have them investigated. I have the papers in the car if you want to sign them." He popped a nacho in his mouth.

"I would. Thanks a ton."

Scott patted her on the shoulder and whispered, "What's all the fuss about this Tom guy? Jen almost flipped over the table in her rush to get over here. Ow!" he protested, rubbing his knee. "What'd you do that for?"

"Mind your own business," Jen snapped under her breath. "So tell me, Tom, how do you know everyone? It seems that everyone here is related in some way except you."

Tom lifted a shoulder. "I moved into a new apartment building a few weeks ago and was lucky enough to meet Lauren and Rachel. They were kind to an old bachelor and invited me along for all their fun."

"Actually," Lauren said, "he's the one that's been kind. He's been driving us all over the city today." She let go of Tom's hand to hug his arm to her side. Tom glanced at Celia before he smiled at Lauren, placing his free hand on hers.

Celia's phone buzzed again. It was Jen, texting under the table. _He's a jerk._

Celia shook her head. _No he's not. There's nothing wrong with flirting._

_There is if you don't like the person you're flirting with._

Celia put the phone away. Why did everyone think Tom didn't like Lauren? Even she could see there was something there. Why couldn't anyone else?

When dinner arrived the conversation stopped. Jaime had seen the addition to the group and brought Jen's and Scott's plates to their table. Celia wasn't sure that she didn't want Jen back in her own booth. It was easier to ignore Tom when she didn't have Jen asking him innocent-sounding questions.

"Oo, look," Lauren said, inspecting her salad. "They made a design in my salad."

Glancing across the table, Celia almost choked. Jaime had 'drawn' a person on Lauren's salad: cucumber head, celery body, and carrot arms and legs. A stick person. She looked down at her own plate quickly. Tom leaned over, speared the cucumber on his fork, and popped it in his mouth. "Delicious."

Celia could almost see the mischief spark in Jen's eyes. "Scott and I were discussing once before we were married about his ideal woman," she said casually. ""What is yours, Tom? Do you have an ideal woman?"

Tom leaned back in his chair. "The ideal woman? She doesn't exist."

"Sure she does," Scott said. "I'm married to her."

"That's so sweet," Lauren said. "And I'm sure there are other ideal women out there besides Celia's friend. Don't you think so, Tom?"

She couldn't help herself. Celia leaned her chin on her hand and asked, "Yes, don't you think so, Tom?"

Gazing directly at her, Tom said, "No. She doesn't."

"But if you had to describe her, what kind of characteristics would she have?" Jen would not leave the subject alone.

Tom put his hands behind his head and thought for a moment. "Well, if I had to make a list, I would say that she would have to be tall, beautiful, and athletic. She would have her own money and not care that she had more than I did. And she would have to love the Cubs."

Jen put her fork down. "That's it? That's your ideal woman?"

"Yup."

"You don't have any other qualities you would consider important in the person you could spend the rest of your life with?"

"Since most marriages end in divorce it hardly seems necessary to look for other qualifications."

Jen shook her head. "I pity the woman who agrees to marry you," she said, and placed her fork on her empty plate. "Come on, Scott. Let's get Celia those papers and head home."

Scott shoveled one last bite of food in his mouth and got to his feet. "I'll be right back," he told Celia. A minute later he placed a paper in front of her and showed her where to sign. Then he put it in his pocket and squeezed her shoulder. "It was nice to meet all of you," he said, and then he and Jen were gone.

Tom picked up his fork and began to eat again. "You have interesting friends," he commented to Celia, and started talking to Lauren in a low voice.

***

The next morning Celia slept in later than she had since she started college. When she finally rolled out of bed she ambled down the hall, poured a glass of juice, and sat down at the kitchen table. Michael had left the newspaper there again. Why not? she asked herself, and started to read.

_The Perfect Woman_

_by Thomas Elliot_

_The perfect woman does not exist. I'm sure all of you women out there reading this are outraged by this thought; you probably all either think you are the perfect woman or you are intimate friends with one._

_The subject of the perfect woman came up last night as a group of friends and I had dinner together. When asked what I wanted in a woman, I answered much as Benedick from Shakespeare's __Much Ado About Nothing__ did__: "Rich she shall be, that's certain; wise, or I'll none; virtuous, or I'll never cheapen her; fair, or I'll never look on her; mild, or come not near me . . . of good discourse, an excellent musician, and her hair shall be of what color it please God."_

_The list I gave my friends was not much different. I said my ideal woman would be beautiful, athletic, tall, rich (of course) and love the Cubs. On further reflection, however, I find I shall have to update my list._

_Let me qualify this by reiterating that I do not believe the perfect woman to be in existence. I could search the world over for the rest of my life and never find anyone that could come close to perfection. But if I had to list my own "ideal qualities," here is what my top five would look like._

_Beauty (of course), although a beauty that does not recognize itself as beautiful._

_Intelligence, for what is the use of a pretty face if all you can do is look at it?_

_Humility, to help me remember that it's all right to admit you're wrong sometimes._

_Humor, including the ability to laugh at herself before laughing at others, and_

_Honesty, or the whole list isn't worth the paper it's written on._

_I knew someone, a long time ago, who possessed all five of these qualities. At least I thought she did. But she proved me wrong in the end._

_Benedick prefaces his own list by saying, "Love may transform me to an oyster, but I'll take my oath on it, till he have made an oyster of me, he shall never make me such a fool." Benedick had the right of it. Love does transform people. Sometimes they turn into happy, contented, well-adjusted members of society, but more often than not they are transformed into oysters._

_I was oyster-ified once, and I swore it would never happen again. And it won't. Period. And no matter how much people change, this man will not submit to such a humiliating transformation again. Even if the person I once loved seems to be even more remarkable and amazing than she was seven years ago._

*All quotes taken from Much Ado About Nothing, .24-35.

**Author's note: Thank you all so kindly for your lovely and encouraging comments! I would love to hear what you think after reading the above, so leave me comments galore!**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

The paper landed with a thud on the floor next to Celia's chair. After all this time, did Tom still love her?

That was impossible, she thought. How could Tom possibly have feelings for her after seven years of separation? Well, maybe he did have feelings of some sort, she reminded herself. He had been pretty rude since that disastrous meeting the week before. Maybe he was still angry. Again, that seemed impossible.

As she was trying to think of a reasonable explanation for Tom's column she wandered back to her bedroom just in time to catch her phone ringing.

"Hey, Jen."

"Have you read the paper yet?"

"Part of it. Why do you ask?"

"Is the Thomas Elliot, _Tribune_ columnist, the same Tom I met last night, or does this picture in the paper just have an uncanny resemblance to him?"

Celia sighed. She had wondered how long it would take Jen to figure that out. "I'm afraid so."

Jen whistled. "And I thought he was a jerk before," she said. "Now I have proof."

"Wait a minute. He's not a jerk -- "

Jen made a rude noise. "Yes, he is," she insisted. "Stop defending him. It's getting on my nerves. How did he treat you yesterday?"

Celia thought back. For the most part Tom had completely ignored her. "He mostly paid attention to Lauren," she said. "I told you yesterday that flirting does not make someone a jerk. And he did pick me up from the library."

Jen made the rude noise again. "That's because no one else had a car." Celia didn't say anything. "Not only is it rude to lead someone on, even if they're as dumb as Lauren seems to be, but it's also horrible to treat a person -- you -- as if she doesn't exist during the day and then go and write in the newspaper, for millions of people to read, that he's still in love with her."

Celia sighed. "Tom's not still in love with me. That whole column is a fiction to sell more papers."

"I don't think so. And if that were true, then he's using you for his own personal gain. Still a jerk."

Celia thought this was going a little too far. "Jen, don't be ridiculous."

"I'm serious," Jen said, and then she laughed. "Maybe you should let Scott and me interrogate him again. We'll get the truth out of him and then we'll take care of him for you."

Celia smiled. Good old Jen. She was always a sucker for lost causes. "I don't think that's necessary."

"Fine, ruin my fun. Now that I'm married I get left out of all interesting interrogations." Jen paused to talk to someone in the background. "Listen, I've got to get back to work. I'll call you later, all right?"

Celia was thoughtful as she got dressed in one of the outfits Cassie had purchased for her. (It was, surprisingly, rather comfortable. She had always assumed fashionable clothes were scratchy and confining. Maybe she should just let Cassie take care of her wardrobe from now on -- as long as she didn't have to go with her.) The best way around the whole Tom mess seemed to be avoidance. He evidently didn't want to see her, and she didn't want to see him again either. At least, that's what she told herself. And it would definitely be much healthier if she could just stay away from the newspaper for once.

***

After she had thrown a load in the washer Celia wandered back upstairs and circled the apartment several times, at a loss for something to do. What did people like Cassie do all day, anyway? There was nothing to clean, no children to watch, no job to go to . . . she was surprised Cassie hadn't gone completely mad yet.

She finally found herself in the sitting room that Cassie had turned into a sort of music room. Cassie didn't play any musical instruments but had recently let Henry convince her to invest in a piano "to update the apartment." The piano was beautiful, of course, and even though it was never played it had a lovely tone. Celia ran her fingers over the keys. She remembered her mother playing the piano; Celia had loved to sit on the floor under the bench and watch Anne's feet tapping on the pedals. She had been fascinated by the way her feet and her fingers had danced together to make the most beautiful music she had ever heard. When Celia had been four, her mother had relented and started to teach her daughter how to play.

Celia sat down and started to pick out "Fur Elise." She knew Cassie wouldn't be bothered; it had been a joke between the three sisters when they were younger that if a tornado tore into their house in the middle of the night and lifted it off the ground, dropping it miles away, the rescuers would find Cassie still asleep the next morning with no idea how she got there. She laughed softly at the memory. Their house had been so much happier when their mother had been alive. She had managed to placate Henry and moderate his impulse shopping, and had taught her middle daughter, at least, to love many of the things she had herself.

Celia thought of the last time she had spoken to her mother. She had come home from school and run through the house looking for her. She finally found her in bed -- an unusual place to find her, but Anne had insisted that she was just tired. After the usual questions about schoolwork, Celia couldn't keep her news to herself.

"I met a boy today," she had said, trying to sound offhand and failing miserably.

"You did?" Her mother sounded equally casual, although Celia could see her mother's eyes twinkle at her. "What's his name?"

"Tom Elliot. He's in my English class."

Anne gave her daughter a knowing look. "I'm assuming there's something special about him," she said.

Celia could feel herself blushing. "I was late to class and had to sit in the back. Tom was sitting next to me, and we whispered all the way through class and then he walked me to every one of my classes," she said. "He said he'd been wanting to talk to me since the first day of school."

"And how do you feel about that?"

"I noticed him back in September but I thought he was too cute to notice me back. He's really nice," she sighed.

Anne had given her a hug and said that she looked forward to meeting him. "Now I think I'm going to take a little nap," she yawned. "Come see me in the morning before you go to school. Love you."

But the next morning Anne had not been well at all, and Celia had convinced Henry to take her to the hospital. She had gone to school, worried, and had been summoned to the office shortly after lunch. The principal was kind and hugged her when she told Celia about her mother's death. Celia had run the four miles home in a daze and had collapsed on the front stairs of the house, unable to go any farther.

That was where Tom had found her an hour later. He had skipped school when she hadn't been in English class and had looked in the phone book for her address. He took one look at her, crumpled and sobbing on the stairs, put his arms around her and held on.

Her fingers faltered and stopped playing. She closed her eyes and rested her elbows on the keys, her head in her hands. Tom had been so wonderful in the weeks following her mother's funeral. In fact, he had been wonderful all through high school; he had never seemed to care that she wasn't as pretty as Claudia or as popular as Cassie. He had just accepted her for who she was.

Celia rubbed her forehead and looked up -- straight into Tom Elliot's eyes.

They stared at each other for a long moment. Neither seemed to know what to do next.

"I'm sorry," he said from the doorway. "I didn't mean to interrupt you."

Celia tried to slow her heartbeat. "That's all right," she said. "I was just about finished, anyway."

Tom was silent for a moment and stood there motionless. He stared at her with a strange expression for what seemed an eternity. Then he shook his head slightly and said, "I heard the piano from my apartment; I hope you don't mind that I let myself in. Lauren gave me a key."

Why was Lauren giving out keys to an apartment that didn't belong to her? Celia wondered. Was she secretly paying rent on two apartments? Tom must have seen some of her thoughts for he continued, "I believe she meant to give me a key to her apartment. Last night Rachel lost her own key and asked me for the one Lauren had given me. After she tried it she gave it back to me because it didn't work, and since it doesn't work on her door I thought I'd try over here."

"That's fine," Celia said. "I'm sorry I bothered you."

"You didn't." Tom stopped talking and took a deep breath. When he opened his mouth his face had hardened into the near-mocking expression he had worn all through dinner the night before. "I find I need to apologize to you," he said stiffly, his eyes locked on a picture hanging over the piano. "I'm sorry I jumped to the wrong conclusion about you and Michael the other day. I know Michael is a wonderful person and would never cheat on his wife."

That was it? The apology in the newspaper had been far better, Celia thought. She waited for him to continue, but nothing happened. "And?"

"And what?"

"That's the most miserable apology I have ever heard," she said. Jen should be here now, she thought with some amusement. This was not the way a man in love behaved.

"I said I was sorry."

"You said you were sorry you misjudged Michael, not me," she pointed out. "Did you accuse him to his face of infidelity too, or was that just for me?"

Tom's head jerked in her direction. "I am sorry I accused you of doing something you did not," he said, his words starting to come faster. "I had assumed you understood that."

"You assumed incorrectly," Celia snapped. She almost wished there was a music book on the piano that she could throw at him. "If you are done insulting me again -- "

Cassie appeared behind Tom, her eyes wide in surprise. She was holding Celia's phone. "I was walking past your room when I heard your phone ringing," she said, glancing from Tom to Celia in some consternation. "It's the library lady. I thought you'd want to talk to her."

Celia took the phone and turned away from Tom. "Hello?"

"Cecilia? This is Sarah Pompilius from the Chicago Public Library."

"Hi, Ms. Pompilius," Celia said faintly. She leaned against the piano.

"Please call me Sarah. I am calling to offer you the job."

Now Celia put her free hand on the piano. She was feeling like she might slide to the floor if she didn't have a firm grasp on something. A second later she felt someone's hand push her down into a chair that had materialized behind her knees. "Are you all right?" Tom whispered. He looked concerned.

Celia nodded at him. Why was he being nice all of a sudden? Hadn't they been arguing just moments before? "That's excellent news," she said to Sarah. "When would you like me to start?"

Sarah coughed. "That's the only problem. The current story lady is expecting a baby next month and does not want to give up her job until she delivers. We're just hoping she doesn't go into labor at one of the branches. Children may never enter a library again. We wouldn't need you for another four weeks or so. Will that be a problem?"

Celia looked at Cassie hovering in the hallway, a hopeful look on her face. She was pretty sure Cassie wouldn't mind a house guest for another month. "That shouldn't be a problem," she said. "Will I need to do anything in the meantime?"

Sarah paused. "Jen tells me you are currently without reliable transportation," she said finally. "Since you will be traveling between branches on a regular basis, it would be best if you could find yourself a car that will not break down."

"I was planning on doing that anyway,"

"You will, naturally, be reimbursed for your mileage. I have your email address; I'll send you the formal offer this afternoon. Thank you, Cecilia."

Celia closed the phone and looked up. Tom was still standing next to her, his hands stuck in his pockets. "I have the job," she said slowly, and started to smile. At Tom's surprised look the smile turned into a grin. He smiled back reflexively, and then she sprang out of her chair, turned to Cassie and repeated, "I have the job!" Cassie squealed and hugged her tight enough to make her breathless.

"That's wonderful!" she cried. "We need to celebrate!"

Celia laughed, almost giddy from relief. "I can't celebrate until I find a car," she said. "I need to find one before the job starts next month. You don't mind if I bunk over here that long, do you?" she asked.

"I think it would be wonderful if you just moved in permanently," Cassie said. "I wish you wouldn't be so independent."

Still laughing, Celia said, "It's too late for that."

"At least let us help find you a car," Cassie said. She looked over at Tom. "Tom can come, too. It'd be good to have a car expert's opinion."

Celia raised her eyebrows. Since when was Tom a car expert? She was so sure he would bow out that she was surprised to hear him say, "I could do that. When do you want to leave?"

After Tom had returned to his apartment Cassie followed Celia into the kitchen. "What was that all about?" she asked. "I thought you two were going to kill each other."

"It's nothing," Celia said shortly.

"It didn't look like 'nothing' to me. Is something going on that you're not telling me?"

Celia paused. How much did Cassie remember from their high school days? "Tom and I go a ways back," she finally said.

Cassie looked at her strangely. "How far back?"

"High school."

Cassie sat down at the table and picked up the newspaper, idly flipping through it. Then her head jerked up. "Wait a minute," she said slowly, her eyes narrowing as she looked at her sister. "Didn't you date a guy named Tom in high school?"

Celia nodded. Maybe Cassie remembered more than she thought.

Her eyes narrowing even further, Cassie stood up and walked over to stand next to Celia. "How long did you date Tom Elliot?"

"Four years." Celia slumped against the counter. "And then he asked me to marry him."

"He _what_?"

Celia nodded. "I didn't tell anyone but May," she said. "We talked about eloping. It sounded so romantic." She laughed. "And then you and Michael went and did the eloping for me. Tom and I were engaged most of the summer after graduation. And then I called it off."

"_Why_?"

Shrugging, Celia looked at her sister in a mute plea for understanding. "May convinced me that we were too young and that Tom wouldn't fit in with the family. I was dumb enough to listen to her."

Then Cassie did something completely unexpected. She started to laugh. Huge, uncontrolled laughter that had her sitting on the floor and brought tears to her eyes. "You hadn't seen him since," she gasped out, "until last week, here in my apartment."

Celia started to smile. From this light it was sort of funny. "Nope."

"And now he's living next door."

Starting to laugh now, Celia just nodded.

Cassie wiped the tears from her eyes. "I'm so sorry," she said. "If I'd had any idea I wouldn't have encouraged Lauren and Rachel to drag him everywhere with us."

Celia's laughter died abruptly. "Please don't say anything to them," she pleaded. "I'm handling things just fine, and it'll only get more awkward if everyone knows our old history."

Cassie seemed to think about this for a minute. "All right," she said finally. "But if things get too out of control, we'll take care of him."

Celia tried to smile. This was the second time in as many hours that someone had volunteered to 'take care' of Tom for her. If he continued to be a jerk, as Jen had predicted, maybe she'd be tempted to take them up on it.

***

Later that afternoon Celia found herself in the back seat of Michael's car sitting next to a silent Tom. Cassie chattered away, not noticing the tension behind her, but Michael's eyes strayed to Celia every few minutes. He had let Cassie convince him to leave work an hour early and had conveniently forgotten to invite Lauren and Rachel along for the fun.

Celia let Cassie's voice wash over her. She looked outside, watching the buildings flash by as they drove. She didn't pay much attention to where they were going until Michael pulled into a BMW dealership.

She sat in the car for a moment and thought. It was really very nice of Michael and Cassie to help her out; she already owed them for letting her stay in their apartment, and she knew they were only trying to help. But how much money did they think a story lady made every month? There was no way she could afford any car on the lot, new or used.

"Aren't you going to get out and look around?" Tom's voice was neutral.

"No, I don't think so," she said. "I don't think any of these cars will be what I'm looking for."

Tom turned his head to look at her. "What, aren't they good enough for you?"

Celia opened her mouth and then, thinking that it wouldn't do any good to argue, closed it again.

"Ah, I see." Tom's voice had switched from neutral to slightly mocking. "A BMW isn't flashy enough for the daughter of Henry Fuller."

This time Celia ignored her internal filter. "Probably not, but Henry Fuller isn't paying for the car; I am."

Tom had the grace to look surprised, and it was his turn to open and close his mouth. "You were wrong about Henry," she continued, looking away from him. "He did not appreciate the fact that I wanted to go to college. It took me two years to get up the courage to leave home by myself with no financial support, and that courage was hard won. I'm not about to lose my independence just because I moved back to Chicago."

Tom cleared his throat and ran his hand through his hair. "I'm sorry," he said after a long pause. "I just assumed that -- "

Celia got out of the car, then turned around to look him squarely in the eye. "Henry doesn't have any money anymore," she said quietly. "He squandered most of it away after Mom died, and when I was at school it just got worse. I only came back to Chicago when things got too bad and they had to sell the house. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to tell Michael and Cassie that I'd rather look somewhere else for a more affordable set of wheels." She turned her back on him and walked over to Cassie.

"Michael thinks this one would work for you," Cassie said in a dubious tone, touching a sleek black car. "They all look the same to me. Can you tell a difference?"

Celia tried to laugh, but the conversation she had just had with Tom had left a bitter taste in her mouth. "I actually think we'd have better luck somewhere else," she said. "Story ladies don't make that much money, and I'd rather not get in over my head."

"Oh, we'll help you out," Cassie said as if it were obvious.

"No, you won't. I appreciate the offer, truly I do, but I need to do this on my own. Please, Cassie."

"I think she's right." Tom's voice sounded strained from behind her. "Celia should get the car she needs, not some souped-up, gas-guzzling thing that will cost her a lot of money to run. Maybe we should go across the street."

Cassie looked over at the Ford dealership on the other side of the road. "Fine by me," she said cheerfully. "Like I said, they all look the same to me. Let me tell Michael and we'll meet you over there."

Once she had disappeared into the showroom Celia started walking through the parking lot to the street. Tom followed her.

"Cassie doesn't understand about money issues," she tried to explain to him. It was so hard to make someone understand how she and Cassie could still be so different. "She thinks she does, because she and Michael have decided to 'economize,' but she doesn't get it."

Tom didn't say anything for a moment. Then he put his hand on her arm to stop her, and this time he didn't pull away as if the contact burned him. "I'm sorry," he said. He sounded like he meant it. "I had no idea that you had to do all that on your own." He paused again. "It seems as though I have a lot to apologize for," he said quietly, looking at his feet.

Celia just smiled at him and resumed walking. "That may be," she said. "Maybe with practice you'll get better at it."

Tom grunted. "I'm a fast learner."

***

At the end of the day Celia was the proud owner of a used, slightly dented blue Ford Focus. Michael put up a protest ("An American car? Are you out of your mind? That thing'll blow up on you within the month!") but eventually came around. It didn't hurt that Tom took him aside and spoke to him for some time. When they returned Michael didn't mention it again.

"I think he'll be good for Lauren," Michael told Cassie when they were waiting for the car to be washed. Tom had wandered over to speak with an salesman about the warranty on Celia's new car. "She could use a man with a solid head on his shoulders. I'm glad she and Tom like each other."

"Tom doesn't like Lauren that way," Cassie said absently.

Celia tried not to laugh at Michael's surprised expression. "Sure he does," he protested. "They flirt with each other all the time. I don't think it'll be too long before things get serious."

Cassie shot him a look that said quite plainly, _you have got to be kidding; are you blind? _"Don't bother," Celia murmured in her ear as she answered her phone. "Hello?"

"Celia? This is Rachel. I have amazing news!"

Rachel sounded like she was going to bounce off the walls. "What's up?"

"It's Ben. He's in town -- to play for the Cubs! Their second baseman got hurt and they needed a replacement, so he's actually here, playing in the big leagues!" Rachel's voice was getting louder and louder until even Cassie and Michael could hear her.

"That's great, Rachel! Are you going to the game tomorrow?"

Rachel let out an excited yell. "Of course I am! Ben got six tickets and you know how Mom and Dad feel about me dating a baseball player; they wouldn't come down for this. Do you guys want to come? I'd like for you to meet him while he's here."

"I'll be there," Celia said. "I'll tell the others for you. Come on up for breakfast tomorrow. I'll cook."

When she hung up the phone she looked at Cassie and smiled. "Do I need to repeat that for you?"

Michael laughed. "I think even the people across the street know," he said. "I can't be gone from work tomorrow, so I'll pass, but you girls have fun. Take Tom with you." He smirked. "It'll be educational for him to take Lauren to a baseball game." He and Cassie looked at each other for a long moment and then started to laugh.

"What's so funny?" asked Tom, walking over.

"Nothing. You get to go with the girls to a Cubs game tomorrow." Michael clapped him on the shoulder. "Good luck, man. One word of advice -- ignore any sports comments Lauren makes. She won't have a clue what she's talking about."

Tom raised an eyebrow. "I can handle anything."

***

The next morning Rachel knocked on the door bright and early. Celia had successfully avoided looking at the newspaper, even going so far as to place it in the recycling bin in Cassie's cleaning closet. She was determined not to read Tom's column that morning.

Rachel bounded into the kitchen and threw her arms around Celia. "I can't believe it," she said, her face alive with happiness. "It seems so unreal."

Celia hugged her back. "So I'm guessing you don't want to break up with him after all."

Laughing, Rachel shook her head. "No. I think that was just a bad Ben day. We hadn't parted on the phone in the best of terms, and then my mom called and tried to convince me to break up with him." She paused. "I saw him this morning."

"Already?" Celia was surprised. It was only 8:30.

"Yep. He came by the apartment to give me this." Rachel held out her hand almost shyly, a ring on her fourth finger.

Celia grabbed her for another hug. "Congratulations," she said sincerely. "I'm so happy for you both. You've talked so much about him over the past year I feel like I know him already."

"We're not getting married for a while," Rachel said, looking at her ring fondly. "At least not until the season is over. Is Cassie awake? I wanted you two to be the first to know."

Celia laughed. "She won't be up for another hour or so," she said. "Let me make you breakfast, and when it's ready you can take her a plate and tell her when you wake her up."

Rachel beamed at her. "Let me help. I'm not a whiz in the kitchen but I can set a mean table!" She headed to the cleaning closet to fetch the napkins and came out with an excited expression on her face. "You kept the paper!" she said. "I didn't have a chance to read Tom's article yet."

Celia froze at the counter, the spoon she had been using to mix the pancake batter dripping unseen onto the floor. "How did you know that Tom's a columnist?"

Rachel sat down at the table and opened the paper. "He came over last night to give Lauren her key back. She was pumping him for information about his job. He said his editor had told him to write more personal columns and I was curious what he was writing about."

Celia put the spoon back in the bowl. Please, she thought, read it silently. I was doing so well.

But Rachel didn't pay attention to silent pleas for help and started reading out loud. "_To Whom it May Concern_," she read. "_This letter is to answer all of your well-meaning, meddling questions concerning my recent columns._" Rachel looked up. "What has he been writing about?"

Celia shrugged and tried to pay attention to the batter which was now too runny from over-stirring.

Obviously intrigued, Rachel scanned the article. "It looks like he's just responding to emails the paper has received," she said after a minute. "He must have been writing about a girl, because most of the questions are about her."

The spoon clattered to the ground. When she had finished wiping up the mess and washed the spoon, she asked as casually as she could, "Does he say what her name is?"

Rachel's eyes ran down the length of the column. "No," she said finally, "although she sounds really nasty. He says she broke off their engagement out of the blue and that he's never really gotten over it."

Celia dropped the spoon again. This time she threw it into the sink. She had to get Rachel away from that paper; she didn't want to hear any more. "Will you finish these for me?" she said in desperation. "I should probably go see if Cassie's awake yet."

Rachel raised her head from the paper and looked at Celia with a quizzical expression. "You know I don't cook. The Starbucks on the corner has a table reserved for me every morning, I"m there so often. And I thought I was going to take Cassie breakfast in bed," she said, and then noticed Celia's pale face. "Is something the matter?"

"I'm fine," Celia lied. She ladled pancake batter onto the griddle and then noticed she hadn't turned it on yet. This was going to be the worst breakfast she had ever prepared. She hoped Rachel was too excited about Ben to notice food.

Rachel suddenly laughed. "People ask the dumbest things. Why do they care what she looks like? He just says that it doesn't matter, that his idea of a beautiful woman is purely suggestive, and that there are millions of women in the greater Chicago area with her same basic description. Someone wants to know how he feels about her now, and he says he's ambivalent." She paused. "What do you suppose he means by that?"

For the life of her Celia couldn't come up with an explanation. "Ambivalent means that he doesn't care about her one way or another," she finally said, hoping that would appease Rachel.

"Oh. Okay. Someone else asked him if he's going to get back with her now that they're neighbors. He says, and I quote, 'No way. I can't afford the pain twice.' I don't think she can really be a neighbor, do you? No one around here knows who he is except for us." She paused and sniffed. "Do you smell something burning?"

Celia groaned when she saw the blackened state of the pancakes -- and then the fire alarm went off. The kitchen was silent save for the screeching of the alarm for a full minute before Rachel spoke.

"Maybe I'll run out and get breakfast for you," she said. "I don't think I'm in the mood for pancakes anymore."

Then the phone rang. "Hello?" Celia hoped whoever was on the other end could hear her over the racket of the fire alarm.

"Is the the Tanner residence?"

"Yes," Celia said slowly. It was much too early for a telemarketer.

"I am with the Chicago Fire Department. We received a call from the home alert system that monitors your home. They say you may have a fire." The man paused. "I hear the fire alarm," he said. "Is everything all right?"

Celia covered her face with her free hand and then remembered she was still holding the pancake turner. I guess I'll be showering again, she thought. "Yes," she said wearily. "It was just a cooking mishap. Thanks for your concern."

After she hung up the phone she rinsed the pancake batter down the sink while Rachel went out to get breakfast. Then , figuring she grabbed the paper from the table, pulled out the matches, and set it on fire in the sink.

***

Going to a baseball game with Lauren was free entertainment, Celia decided once they were on the train. It had taken Tom half an hour to persuade her that the El was safe, that she wasn't going to get mugged, and that rich people did occasionally use public transportation.

"Why can't we take the car?" Lauren whined.

Taking a deep breath, Tom looked at the sky and said, "We've been over this before. Parking at Wrigley Field is almost non-existent. This is the best way to get there. Please, Lauren. Trust me. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

Celia suppressed a smile at the look on Lauren's face when they finally stepped onto the train. She refused to touch anything or even sit down, although there were plenty of empty seats, choosing instead to cling to Tom's arm as though her life depended on it. Celia settled herself in a front-facing seat and sighed. She had missed the El while she was in Michigan. You always met the most interesting people while riding it.

Sure enough, at the next stop a clean-cut man dressed in a business suit got on and took the seat next to Celia. He smiled at her and then proceeded to take off his suit coat. When he yanked off his tie and began unbuttoning his shirt Celia made a noise of protest and started to stand up.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to strip," the man said easily. "I'm supposed to be at a business lunch but I'm really skipping out early to go to the game." Underneath his blue button-down was a Cubs jersey. "I planned this all along," he confided. "My boss never watches the games, so I figure I'm safe." He stuffed his unneeded clothing in his briefcase, sat back in his seat, and took a deep breath. "There's nothing like a day game at Wrigley," he grinned.

Celia grinned back. "That's for sure."

The man eyed her speculatively. "Is that where you're going, too?"

Celia grabbed the baseball cap she had placed on her other side and put it on her head. "You betcha," she said. "I've been wanting to go to a game for ages." From across the train she could see Tom watching her chat with the stranger. He didn't look happy.

He looked even unhappier when the man pulled a card out of his wallet and wrote something on the back. He handed it to Celia and said, "My name's John, by the way. Call me any time you need someone to go with you to a game." Celia turned the card over to find his home phone number. She smiled at John and thanked him politely before placing it in her pocket. When she looked up Tom caught her eye. He looked like he wanted to punch someone.

When they got to Addison Street half the passengers on the train got off and went up the escalators to the street level. Lauren looked around in confusion.

"Where's the field?" she asked, still attached to Tom's arm.

Cassie pointed down the street. "About three miles in that direction."

"Three miles? How am I supposed to walk three miles in these shoes?"

Rachel grabbed Lauren's other arm and wrenched her away from Tom. "Most people don't wear three-inch heels to a baseball game," she said. "Don't worry, we're not going to make you walk. We're taking the bus."

Lauren looked appalled. "The bus?" she screeched.

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Yes, the bus. Come on, we need to cross the street to wait with all the people over there."

When they finally reached Wrigley Field Lauren was a mess. Celia, Rachel and Cassie ignored her, leaving Tom to calm her down. Rachel gave Tom two tickets and told him they would meet them inside at their seats. "I'm sorry to leave you with her," she said quietly, "but I really want Celia and Cassie to meet Ben." She flashed a smile at him. "It's best if you learn all of Lauren's quirks now before it's too late!" Lauren wasn't too upset to glare at her sister.

Rachel sighed in relief when they were safely inside the ballpark. "I believe she's faking most of that," she confessed. "I think she likes the attention she gets from Tom when she overreacts."

Celia raised her eyebrows. "I don't think that was all made up," she said. "Her reaction on the train was pretty convincing."

Shrugging, Rachel led the way to their seats. "You're probably right, but she would have recovered by now if she didn't have a great hulking man like Tom to take care of her." She smirked at Celia and then cried excitedly, "There he is! Ben! Over here!"

They were seated along the left field line, just behind the Cubs' dugout. Ben looked over at the group and grinned. He was a good-looking guy, Celia thought. He looked like the sort of person Rachel would fall for -- tall, muscular, and blonde. He had the kind of face that looked like it rarely saw a frown. He beamed up at Rachel.

"Hey there, fiancée! I'm glad you could make it!" Ben reached up and grabbed Rachel's hand. She leaned over to kiss him before making the introductions.

"Pleased to meet you," he said. "Rachel, I've got to go. Wish me luck!" He kissed her again and ran back to the dugout.

Rachel collapsed into her seat. "I can't believe he's really playing for the Cubs," she said. "I don't want to miss a minute of this game. When Lauren gets here I want to sit as far away from her as possible."

Cassie and Celia grinned at each other. "No problem."

***

When it was all said and done. Celia decided the best part about the game was watching Tom and Lauren. Lauren seemed to have a knack for asking ridiculous questions just as something exciting happened. ("Tom, where are the goal posts?" Lauren asked just as Ramirez stole second base, which Tom didn't see because he was busy explaining the difference between baseball and football for her.) By the seventh inning Celia could tell Tom was fed up and wanted to ignore her like everyone else, but every time Celia caught his eye he would turn back to Lauren with a martyred expression.

The best entertainment of the afternoon came in the bottom of the seventh inning when Ben hit a game-winning home run and the fans went wild. The man sitting in back of Lauren threw his hands up in the air to celebrate, forgetting that his beer was still full -- and in his hand. Most of it landed on Lauren's head. Celia thought it was fortunate that no one could hear anyone else for a few minutes because she didn't think it would be polite to be caught laughing at one of your sister's family members.

When they were back safely on the train Celia sank into her seat and closed her eyes. Rachel had stayed at the park to celebrate with Ben, and Cassie was trying to explain to Lauren that things like that weren't uncommon at baseball games, and that beer was really very good for your hair. That seemed to brighten Lauren up a bit.

Halfway to their stop Tom escaped from Lauren's grasp and sank gratefully into the seat next to Celia. "That was some game," he said finally without looking at her.

Celia smiled to herself. "Yes, it was," she agreed. "Did you enjoy yourself?"

Tom grimaced. "Not really."

There was a long pause. "I'm sorry to hear that." Celia couldn't keep the amusement out of her voice. "I found it very entertaining. And it didn't hurt that the Cubs won."

Tom leaned over and put his head in his hands. He stayed that way for a while before turning his eyes to look at Celia rather accusingly. "What did that guy give you?"

Celia looked at him blankly. "What guy?"

"The guy who was taking off his clothes on the train earlier."

"Oh, John." She patted her pocket. "He gave me his phone number. In case I ever need a buddy to go with me to a game."

Tom scowled. "Yeah, right. Tell me you didn't give him yours in return."

Turning her face away, Celia said, "I don't see how it's any of your business who I talk to. He seemed like a perfectly nice person." Who skips out on work to watch a baseball game, she added silently.

"I don't care who you go out with," Tom replied a little too loudly. "I was just worried for Cassie and Michael. I'd hate for something bad to happen to them because you gave their phone number out to some random guy."

Celia shook her head. "I trust my judgment," she said. "Even if you don't trust your own."

***

Celia had a hard time sleeping that night. Dreams of strange men dressed in Cubs uniforms and striped ties followed her around, and a beer-drenched Lauren flew through the sky wailing about undesirable people using public transportation. So it was no wonder that she forgot her resolution to stay away from the newspaper the next morning, and instead of burning it in the sink like she had the previous day, she sat down at the table to read it.

_The Other Curse_

_by Thomas Elliot_

_A word to the wise: Never attend a baseball game with a woman if you want to follow the action on the field. I missed rookie Ben Toomer's game-winning home run because I didn't follow this advice._

_The game was exciting -- I think. At least most of the fans sitting around me thought so. My experience was a bit more of a let down, and after everyone in my party was safely at home I wandered to my favorite Mexican restaurant, Jaime's, to talk about the Cubs with the owner,_

_He knew the moment I walked in the door that it had not been a good day. When I told him what I had been doing all afternoon he seemed confused. (Jaime is the biggest Cubs fan I know, so he naturally didn't understand how going to a game, especially when I didn't have to pay for the ticket, could equate a bad day.) When I told him I had gone with a woman, he understood immediately._

_"You can't take a woman anywhere," he said before taking a big swig of beer. "They don't even understand about the Other Curse."_

_What other curse? I wanted to know._

_"Ah," he said, "you are just as bad as your lady friend. Everyone knows about the goat and Billy Sianis. I am talking about the Mets and the black cat."_

_I was intrigued. Had the Mets joined the unfortunate ranks of the Cubs and the Red Sox and got themselves a curse?_

_"No, no, I am referring to the curse the Mets fans put on the Cubs." At my confused look he continued. "The Cubbies were having a great year in 1969 -- until September. The Mets and the Cubs met on tSeptember ninth New York City and halfway through the game some fans let a black cat onto the field." At this point Jaime drained his beer and looked at the empty mug sadly._

_So what about the cat? I asked. I hate cats as a rule, but how could a cat affect a ball game?_

_"The cat glared at the player waiting in the on deck circle and then stalked back and forth in front of the Cubs' dugout, glaring at the team as it did so. They lost the game and then completely collapsed in September, losing the pennant to the Mets. Things have never been the same."_

_Jamie drained his second mug of beer and belched. "Ay," he said. "The other curse. No one thinks of that anymore. It's almost like they're too involved in their own personal curses to fuss over a silly black cat."_

_Personal curses? Surely he wasn't saying that he was cursed, too?_

_"What are you, a White Sox fan? I thought you had to be smart to be a writer. No, I mean the things that can bog a person down, like relatives that disappoint you, or trains that are always late. You know, personal curses."_

_Ah, I did know what he meant._

_"I have a friend," he went on, "who suffers from the worst kind of personal curse there is -- the curse of loneliness. People think that because she has friends and comes from a family with money that it is impossible for her to be lonely. But she is. And that is the worst curse of all."_

_When I left Jaime's later that evening I thought about the friend he had been speaking of. I was pretty sure I knew who she was, and I felt guilty that I had been partly responsible for her loneliness._

_Sure, she had friends. And sure, she had a sister who loved and needed her. But no one really takes care of her the way she takes care of everyone else. And I, her next-door neighbor, have been partly to blame._

_So I have decided to bury the proverbial hatchet, swallow my puffed-up pride, and be nice to her. I will treat her the same as I treat any other pretty woman of my acquaintance. She may not want me to be nice, but hey, that's too bad. It's the least I can do to make up for all the rude things I've said to her over the past few weeks._

_And maybe, if I'm lucky, losing the rudeness I seem to have adopted in her presence will help me rid myself of my own curse -- the curse of liking someone more than I want to._

Author's Note: The baseball game everyone goes to is loosely based on a Cubs game my family and I attended this past May. I won't bore you with the details, but the Cubs were down 9-1 in the second inning and came back to win 10-9 after a game-winning home run hit by Mark DeRosa, the Cubs' second baseman. If the wind is blowing out of Wrigley it's a hitters' paradise.

Send me your comments so I'll know if I should update next week or not!


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Over the next few days Celia didn't see much of Tom. They would pass in the hallway every now and then and he would politely ask how she was doing and then continue on his way. She figured this was his way of being nice without really trying. And his columns were as non-personal as she had seen them.

It was a welcome reprieve, she told herself. It was a relief not to have to avoid the newspaper every day for fear you would find yourself in it, and not to have to find an escape route every time someone was in the same room. It was really much easier this way.

But even though the past few weeks had been tense and uncomfortable, Celia found that she missed, in a sick sort of way, their arguments. She started to doubt her sanity and figured she needed something that would take up all her concentration.

So even though Cassie's new washer and dryer hadn't been installed yet, Celia decided to teach Cassie the fundamentals of laundering, and to that end took her to the downstairs laundry room. She was prepared to be frustrated (after all, the situation was a bit unnatural; Cassie was the only twenty-two-year-old she knew who didn't know how to wash her own clothes), but she wasn't prepared for Cassie's enthusiastic response.

"I'm so ready to do things on my own," Cassie said as she held the door open for Celia, who was loaded down with two baskets of dirty clothes. "I just know it'll be so rewarding to look at myself in the mirror every day and think, 'I did this. I am responsible for these clean, beautiful clothes.'" Cassie twirled around the room, her arms extended. "This is going to be so much fun!"

Celia dropped the baskets on the floor and stared at her sister. She had never felt the level of satisfaction over clean laundry that Cassie was describing, and she really hoped Cassie wouldn't be disappointed at the end of their lesson. "The first thing you have to do is separate the clothes," she said, sitting on a chair next to the baskets to watch.

"Separate them how?"

Celia started pulling things out of a basket. "By color. If you wash white clothes with colored clothes, Michael could end up with pink underwear. Let's start with three piles: whites, lights, and darks."

Cassie started going through her clothes. "How do you know if something is light or dark?"

Grabbing two blue shirts, Celia tossed them over. "How do you think?"

"Oh." Cassie grinned sheepishly at Celia. A few minutes later she was finished, although instead of the three simple piles of clothing Celia had envisioned, there were eight.

Celia smiled in bemusement as she poked a pile with her foot. "How did you separate these things?"

"Well, I couldn't decide which things went in your categories so I made up my own. This way, each load will have the same color in it and nothing bad can happen."

Celia thought about pointing out that the laundry would take days to finish this way, especially when she would only have one washing machine at her disposal, but when she saw Cassie's satisfied expression she didn't have the heart to say anything. "All right," she conceded. "You might change your mind later, but for now we'll do it your way."

After she showed Cassie the different temperatures and spin cycles she turned a machine on and told her to put in the soap. "Not too much," she warned. "You don't have very large loads here."

Cassie looked at the detergent dubiously. "How do I know how much to put in?"

"There are little lines on the cap," Celia said. "Just fill it to the bottom line."

Once all eight washers were loaded, Celia told Cassie to go back upstairs. "Now we wait," she said. "There's nothing to do until they're finished, so you might as well go back up to the apartment and see what's taking the appliance people so long to get your own washer and dryer installed."

Cassie threw her arms around Celia's neck. "I really appreciate this," she said. "I think I would have broken every washer in the building if I had to do this by myself." She grinned. "Tom doesn't know what he's missing."

"Excuse me?"

Cassie waved her arm dismissively in the air. "Oh, come on," she said. "He's so busy flirting with Lauren that he can't see how much you've changed since high school."

"I haven't changed that much."

"Yes you have. Even I can see it, and we both know I'm not the most observant peacock on the farm." She laughed at Celia's expression. "You _have_ changed," she said. "When you left home for college you were this meek little thing that always did what people told you to do. You never made any of the big decisions for yourself. Now look at you. You have a great job -- "

"That doesn't pay all that much -- "

"That pays you enough to live on your own," Cassie continued, pretending that Celia hadn't said anything, "you paid for your own car, and you have a college education. Sometimes I'm jealous of you. I could never have done the things you've managed, and you did it all on your own."

Celia stared at Cassie. Maybe she had changed more than she thought she had. "You can do most of those things, too," she said finally. "You just need to decide what you want to do."

"Maybe, maybe not," Cassie said. "I'm going upstairs to make some phone calls. Are you sure you'll be okay down here by yourself?"

"Of course," Celia laughed, "What could possibly happen to me in your super-fine laundry room?"

When Cassie had gone, Celia sat down in a chair close to the window and thought about what Cassie had said. She had done a lot since high school, she realized. She just never put it all together like Cassie had.

Celia leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. She couldn't remember the last time she had enjoyed a decent night's sleep, and she was tired . . .

She was dreaming about a white shirt being chased through Cassie's apartment by a huge pair of red socks when the socks started to talk. "It can't be that bad," they said in a deep voice.

The shirt collapsed to the floor.

"Well, put him on," the socks said in the same voice. There was a pause. "Locke. This is Tom. What's up?"

The shirt turned into a lock without a keyhole. "What you need is a distraction," the socks said in a cheerful voice. "Why don't I come up and see you next week?"

The lock was silent. Celia thought it looked sad.

"No, really, I want to," the socks insisted. "I have a week off at the paper. We'll hang out at the cottage."

The lock still didn't say anything.

"All right, maybe I'm not that fun," the socks said grumpily. "I'll bring some of my friends with me. Maybe even some pretty girls."

The lock looked horrified.

"Yes, I know the girls," the socks said in some exasperation. "One of them is even available for a little innocent flirtation."

At this the lock perked up.

"I'm not bringing Celia."

The socks suddenly morphed into Tom Elliot. I know that voice, Celia thought hazily, and tried to wake up. It was harder than she thought; the lights were off and the room was so nice and warm . . . She gave up the fight and sank back into sleep.

"I can't bring her," Tom said, sounding a little depressed. "I've been trying to avoid her all week." He paused. "Why? Because she's even more . . . everything than she was in high school, and I can't afford to get involved in all that again after I've made so much progress in getting over her. Yes, all right, I'll bring her anyway so you can see for yourself that it's a hopeless cause and stop nagging me about it. You sound like an old woman. It'll be on your head if I commit hari kari. I know, I know, you want to meet the woman that broke my heart. I'll call you later on in the week to let you know how many will be coming with me. All right, with us. Are you finished yet? Talk to you soon. Bye."

Celia finally managed to pry her eyes open and stirred in her chair. It wasn't as comfortable as she had thought, and she stretched her legs out in front of her. The dream was already fading.

"Celia?" Tom was in front of her. His voice sounded a little panicked.

"Mmhm?"

"How long have you been there?" The panic was starting to grow more pronounced.

Celia yawned. "I don't know," she said sleepily, and rubbed her eyes. "Since the spin cycle, I guess." She stood up and finally got a good look at Tom. He appeared flustered. "Is something wrong? Did Cassie send you to get me?"

She was starting to get into one of her not-quite-awake-yet frights when Tom spoke. "No, she's fine," he said, calmer now. "Did you have a nice dream?"

Celia sat back down and tried to recall the dream. It had been very strange, she remembered. "There was a pair of red socks," she said slowly, "talking to a lock. The lock wanted the socks to do something. Visit, maybe. I can't remember exactly." She shook her head. "I need to get more sleep at night."

Tom half-smiled. "Me too." He cleared his throat. "Are you doing Cassie's laundry again?"

Celia glanced at the row of washers. All of them had stopped. "No," she said. "Well, kind of. I was teaching her how to do her own laundry, and I must have fallen asleep waiting for them to be finished. Do you need them?"

"Whenever you're done." Tom's voice had returned to normal, and he put his cell phone in his pocket. "Do you have any plans for tomorrow night?"

Celia froze, her arms full of wet clothes.

When she didn't say anything, Tom cleared his throat again self-consciously. "Lauren wants to throw a party at my apartment, and I was hoping you, Cassie and Michael would come. You know, to liven things up a bit. Feel free to say no if you want to." He added the last part in a rush.

Maybe he wants me to say no, Celia thought. She glanced up at him. He looked half hopeful, half guilty. What was he hoping for? she wondered. And what could he have to feel guilty about? She eyed him surreptitiously. He was staring at his feet with his hands in his pockets. Well, whichever it was, if he could make the effort to be nice, the least she could do was return the favor. "I don't think we have anything planned," she said. "What time would you like us there?"

"Eight o'clock." The expression on Tom's face hadn't changed.

"We'll be there." she promised. Ready or not, here we come.

***

When she was back in the apartment she went searching for Cassie. She was on the phone, lying in the couch and flipping through televisions stations without really paying attention to what she was doing.

"I'm on hold," she said, glancing up when Celia sat on the other end of the couch.

"You haven't been on hold this long, have you?"

Cassie nodded, seemingly unperturbed. "They'll answer eventually," she said. "And -- promise not to laugh -- I kind of like listening to the elevator music they play."

It was hard to keep a straight face, so to distract herself Celia said the first thing that popped into her mind. "Tom invited us to a party he and Lauren are throwing at his apartment tomorrow," she said. "I told him we could come."

Cassie sat up. "A party? Lauren's -- " she stopped to snort -- "throwing a party at Tom's place?"

Celia nodded. "If you and Mick can't come I don't think anyone will mind."

Cassie threw a pillow at her.

"You know what I meant."

Cassie laughed. "Yeah, we're always the life of the party. Do you have anything to wear?"

Why did it always return to clothes? Celia wondered. She had just washed enough clothing to cover an entire third world country in fashionable attire. "I suppose I could just use something we bought the other day," she said, not really caring what she wore.

Cassie stood up and walked to Celia's room. "I don't think so," she called back a minute later. "I think we need to go party shopping this afternoon."

Please let there be a mall emergency, Celia prayed. Any emergency. Water main break, power outage, all the stores are mysteriously sold out of every piece of cloth . . . "Why don't you go without me?" she asked. "You already know all my sizes, and I trust your judgment."

Reappearing, Cassie took a long look at her sister. She was obviously weighing her options. Celia was sure she was thinking that it would be fun to torture her, but it would also be fun to choose something Celia never would and force her into it because she hadn't had the guts to go along. "All right," she said finally, flashing a large, self-satisfied smile at Celia. "But you have to promise not to complain about what I choose for you."

The second option had obviously been more tempting. "As long as it covers all the necessary parts, I will."

A few minutes later the phone had been turned off and Cassie had shut the door behind her.

There were only a moment of quiet before her phone beeped with an incoming message.

_Everyone still alive over there?_

There's no rest for the weary, Celia thought. It would be easier to text back. _Yes, May. Thanks for the concern._

_Only for my favorite niece._

_How are Henry and Claudia?_

_Adjusting fairly well. Only one shopping trip so far. And Cassie?_

Celia smiled to herself. Some traits ran strong in her family. _Shopping as we speak._

_That's funny._

Celia laughed. _How are you doing? Holding down the fort?_

_Saw Alex Stanfield at your dad's yesterday. He came by to meet you._

Celia almost turned off the phone. _Don't lie._

_I'm serious. He wanted to see if you'd have dinner with him. Ashley thought he was very handsome._

I bet she did, Celia thought. Ashley thought any rich, available (and some not so available) man was handsome. Even her father. _That's nice,_ she finally wrote back. _Too bad I wasn't there to meet him._

_Exactly what I thought. Why don't you meet us tomorrow for dinner?_

Grateful for the first time that Tom had invited her to that blasted party, Celia sent back her regrets. _Already have plans. Maybe next time._

_All right. Talk to you later._

Celia was surprised May gave up that easily. Maybe she'd focus her matchmaking on Alex and Claudia. It sounded like they deserved each other.

***

The next afternoon Cassie dragged her sister to the spa. "It's very relaxing," she said. "And we haven't done any of that sister stuff in a long time. Besides, it won't cost you anything. May said it was on her."

Celia looked at Cassie suspiciously. "When did you talk to May?"

"Yesterday afternoon. She wanted to know what your hot plans for this evening were."

"You didn't tell her the party was at Tom's, did you?"

Cassie looked at her with an affronted expression. "Of course not," she said indignantly. "I said we were going to a party next door, and that there would be a lot of hot eligible men there. She got really excited and offered to send us to the spa."

At least she didn't know about Tom, Celia thought. She wasn't sure why, but she wanted to keep May in the dark about her current situation. "Thanks," she said dryly. "I appreciate that."

"I thought you would," Cassie returned cheerfully.

"I highly doubt there will be any hot, eligible men there, anyway."

"Yes there will." Cassie seemed surprised that Celia didn't already know this. "I talked with Lauren yesterday. They invited most of the complex, and you know those guys up on the fourth floor are cute. And straight."

Celia laughed. "Maybe it won't be so bad," she admitted. "Are you going to let me see what you bought yesterday, or am I going to have to sneak around behind your back?"

"Not until the last minute." Cassie had a wicked look on her face. "I want it to be a surprise."

Which meant, Celia knew, that it was probably short, low, or backless -- or all three. "I told you all the necessary parts had to be covered."

"You worry too much," Cassie said airily. "Don't be concerned. You'll be covered."

***

That evening Celia looked at herself in the mirror and didn't recognize the person staring back at her. The other girl looked tall (tall!) and slender, her hair pulled up on her head with a few strands slightly curling around her face. The black dress she wore was short, but not short enough to show off things she would rather not expose to the general public, and while the neckline was lower than she might have chosen herself, it wasn't terribly immodest. It was, however, tight.

"I think you got this dress a size too small," she called down the hall to Cassie. Michael had been ready for half an hour and was watching television.

Cassie walked down the hall, putting on her earrings as she came. When she turned into the doorway of Celia's room she stopped and looked at her sister, obviously pleased with her handiwork.

"It's actually a size too big," she said critically, "but I didn't think you'd go for it any shorter. It's supposed to be a little tight. Can you breathe?"

Celia tried to take a deep breath. "Kind of."

Cassie smiled. "Good enough. Come on, it's time to make your grand entrance."

Celia let Cassie pull her down the hallway. When they got to the family room Michael stood up, looked at the two women in front of him and gave a long wolf whistle. "I'm the luckiest guy on the planet tonight," he said to his wife, "because I have the privilege of escorting the world's most beautiful women to a party." He paused thoughtfully. "I hope there's dancing."

Celia laughed at Cassie's appalled expression. "He is an accomplished dancer," she agreed, and hugged her sister. "Thanks for everything," she whispered in Cassie's ear. "I can't believe how pretty I feel."

"You _are_ pretty." Then Cassie smirked at her. "You should listen to me more often," she said. "I just hope I'm there when Tom gets his first look at you."

The party was already in full swing when they got to the door and let themselves in. There must be fifty people in this apartment, Celia thought. Tom (and Lauren, she supposed) certainly knew how to attract a crowd.

Celia was standing at the edge of the throng when she spotted Tom across the room. He was talking with Lauren, but he did not look like he was enjoying himself. She said something in his ear and he gestured toward another room. Lauren pouted and disappeared. Then he looked up, across the room, and right at Celia.

For the rest of her life Celia would remember the look on Tom's face as he gazed, transfixed, through the crowd of people jostling each other on a makeshift dance floor. He looked almost as though it was the first time he had ever seen her properly, and he didn't know how to behave. Someone spoke to him and he answered, his eyes never leaving Celia.

"Do I know you from somewhere?"

The voice sounded far away.

"Excuse me, do I know you from somewhere?"

Somehow Celia's attention snapped away from Tom and to the person standing a little too closely beside her. She had never seen him before, and she didn't hesitate to tell him.

"I'm Theo Filmore. Didn't I go out with you once?"

Theo Filmore, Theo Filmore. Celia tried to remember where she'd heard that name before. "Oh, I remember now," she said, relieved. "I went on a blind date with you once. It was quite a few years ago, if I recall correctly. I'm Celia Fuller."

"Of course!" Theo put his hand out to shake hers, holding on a little too long for comfort. His eyes traveled up and down her body appreciatively. "I just can't think why I never called you back. I'm sure I would have wanted to get to know you better."

Celia tried to smile. "I'm sure you would have," she said, trying to subtly pull her hand from his grasp. "If you'll excuse me -- "

"There you are." Tom's voice came from directly behind her, and his hand was suddenly on her waist. "I've been looking all over for you. I believe you promised me a dance."

His hand was warm through the thin fabric of her dress. Celia smiled distractedly at Theo. "I'm glad we saw each other again," he said ruefully. "Maybe I'll have better luck next time."

Steering her toward the dance floor, Tom said in a low voice, "Who was that guy? I don't know who invited him. He looked like he wanted to eat you."

Celia shivered. "An unfortunate blind date. May set us up before college, and I gave him the wrong phone number in case he wanted to go out again." She paused. "Thanks for the rescue. You don't have to dance with me if you don't want to."

Tom shot her a strange look. "If you don't mind, I'd like to." Then he pulled her closer than he had in a long time and started swaying to the music.

I could get used to this, Celia thought in a daze. It felt so natural to be in his arms again. She shook her head slightly to clear her thoughts. I shouldn't get used to this. Tom is dating Lauren. They threw this party together. I should go and help in the kitchen. Or something. I should not be here, dancing with Tom.

Over Tom's shoulder she could see Cassie, a smug expression on her face. Celia rolled her eyes at her sister. "You're going to be frozen that way," Cassie mouthed. Then her smug expression turned horrified. Celia followed her gaze to the middle of the dance floor only to see Michael, his jacket off, starting to dance.

"Oh, no," she muttered under her breath. "Tom, you've got to stop Mick. He's about to embarrass himself."

Tom looked at her for a moment. It appeared that his mind had been miles away. "What?" he said dumbly.

"It's Mick. Get him off the dance floor or Cassie will kill him!"

Tom looked over his shoulder without letting Celia loose. "Right," he said, and started to dance them over to Michael, who was starting to draw some attention. "Michael!" he said just loud enough for the people closest to him to hear. "I need your help in the kitchen."

Michael blinked at him for a second. "Sure," he said before bowing to his curious audience and leaving the room.

Tom shot a wistful glance at Celia. "I'm sorry," he said, "but since I told him I needed him in the kitchen I should probably go there too."

Celia took her hand off his shoulder. "That's all right," she said. "I'll come too. Cassie may need someone to back her up."

Tom grabbed her hand and led her through the crowd. When they reached the edge of the room Celia tugged her hand back. Tom let go quickly, as if he suddenly realized what he was doing and regretted his actions.

When they got to the kitchen Cassie and Michael were already there, Cassie hissing like a cat and Michael standing as though he disagreed with what his wife was saying.

"I like to dance," he protested. "It's fun. And just because you won't dance with me doesn't mean I can't do it without you."

"Ah, Mick is in residence tonight," Celia said softly to Tom.

He turned to her abruptly. "Why do you keep calling him that? Even his own sisters call him Michael."

Hearing this, Michael walked over to them. Still ignoring his wife, he grinned at Celia. "Yeah, Celia. Why do you call me Mick?"

Celia could feel herself blushing. "This first time we met I was at a club with a blind date," she said, catching Tom's suspicious look. "No, not with that idiot out there. I've been on more blind dates than every single woman in Illinois put together. It was someone else. We were dancing -- "

"If you can call that dancing," Michael interrupted.

"All right, I was dancing and the guy I was with was trying to get his hands on my rear when I spotted Mick here on the dance floor. He was by himself, naturally -- "

"Since no one else would dance with him," interjected Cassie.

"And he was doing a really . . . creative impression of Mick Jagger. At least that's what I thought he was doing."

"I was."

"Sure," Cassie muttered.

"I spotted Celia here having a bit of trouble with her date, and offered to take her home. She was desperate enough to agree, and grateful enough for my daring rescue that she agreed to go out with me the next weekend. We spent almost every weekend after that together for what, a year?"

Celia nodded.

"And then I proposed, and it all ended."

Tom's face grew pale. "How did you end up married to Cassie?" he asked quietly.

"I moped around for a while, and then, a few years later, I met Cassie at that same bar. It must be my lucky bar," he told Cassie, picking up her hand. "I didn't realize they were sisters until she gave me her address. With Cassie it was love at first sight. With Celia, it was more a relief from boredom at first sight."

Cassie kissed him on the cheek. "Come on, lover boy," she said fondly. "Let's go find Tom's pool table. You can show me how to play."

When they were gone Tom stared at Celia in horror for a second, then turned on his heel and left the room.

An hour or so later Celia was ready to leave. The old, glowering Tom was back. Every time she turned around he was staring at her, a disgusted look on his face. What have I done now? she wondered. She was just making her way to the door when someone caught her elbow.

"Hey, hot stuff."

She whirled around to snap at the man. "Whoa," Scott said, raising his hands to protect himself. "I meant that in a good, platonic sort of way." Jen grinned at her from behind him.

"Sorry." Celia knew she should feel bad for wanting to bite her friend's head off, but if one more guy tried something tonight she was not going to be responsible for her actions.

"You look amazing," Jen said, a touch of awe in her voice. "We were just at your apartment and heard all the noise, so I figured you'd be where the action was."

Celia smiled wanly at them. "I was just leaving," she said. "Let's go back to Cassie's."

Jen grabbed her arm and marched her to the door. "Excellent idea. Scott wanted to talk to you, anyway." When they were safely in Cassie's apartment Jen turned to her friend. "What's up with lover boy back there? He was looking at you like you'd killed his favorite puppy."

"I don't know," Celia said, weary of the whole business. "And I don't care. Sit down and I'll get you something to drink."

After everyone was comfortably seated around the table, and Celia's shoes had been kicked into the corner, Scott placed a folder on the table and pushed it across to Celia. "Do you know what your father has been purchasing lately?"

Celia opened the folder and scanned the contents. It was a detailed list of all the places Henry had shopped over the last year. The list was surprisingly long, even for Henry's taste for acquiring new things. "I have a list of everything that was in the house when it went up for auction," she said, slowly leafing through the pages. "Why? Did anything look strange to you?"

Scott leaned over and grabbed the top several pages. "A few," he admitted. "Has anyone in your family been to Tahiti recently? Or purchased an Audi?"

Tahiti? "I'm sure I would have heard if they had," she said. "May would know, and she usually finds trips like that amusing. This is the first I've heard of a vacation anywhere. But there could have been an Audi in the garage. I can't remember." She paused, her forehead wrinkling in thought. "Do you think someone has gained access to Henry's money?"

"That would explain how so much money disappeared so quickly," Scott said. "Do you mind if I make a copy of that list you were talking about? I wouldn't mind comparing the two lists to see if there were any obvious inconsistencies."

"I'll get it for you now," Celia said, standing up. "I won't be a minute."

When she returned a few minutes later she found Jen and Scott locked in a rather passionate embrace. "Please," she protested. "I know you're still newly-weds, but can you do that in your own home?"

Jen pulled away, not looking contrite at all. "Just wait until you get married," she said. "You and Tom will be all over each other every time I turn around, and I'll remind you of this conversation."

Celia shook her head. "I'm not marrying Tom."

"We'll see." Jen got up from Scott's lap and pulled him to his feet. "We'll take your not-so-subtle hint and take the action home."

"I'll call you if I come up with anything else," Scott called over his shoulder.

Picking her shoes off the floor, Celia walked through the apartment. She wasn't going back to the party; she'd had enough of Tom's glares for one night. But she wasn't tired. After throwing her shoes in her bedroom she wandered down the hall and opened the balcony doors.

She left the lights off and breathed deeply. The night air was warm and muggy, just as it should be. Michigan was humid by some estimations, but not when compared to Chicago. She had missed the smell of the city, and the feel of it on her skin. She sat in one of Cassie's and Michael's teak lounge chairs and prepared to relax.

Then she heard voices. It was so clear that for a moment she thought Tom had come into the apartment looking for her. But when she turned around there was no one there.

"Are you enjoying yourself?"

"I guess," came Lauren's petulant reply, "but I don't see why you won't dance with me. You danced with Celia, and she's not half as pretty as I am."

Celia looked around the corner of the balcony. She could barely see two figures on the next balcony over, framed by the light coming from Tom's apartment. She knew she should go back inside, but if she moved she knew they would see her. Maybe they'd go away soon.

"That's a matter of opinion," she heard Tom mutter.

"What?"

"Nothing." There was a long pause. Celia could see Tom leaning on the railing, looking out at the city. "When did Michael and Celia date?" he suddenly asked.

"Celia and Michael? Oh, that was years ago," Lauren said in a dismissive tone.

"How long ago?" Tom was being strangely insistent.

Celia could almost hear Lauren thinking. "Um . . . four years ago? Or maybe it was five. It was before she left for college."

"I see." Tom paused again. Then, still facing away from Lauren, he asked, "Why didn't she marry him? I know he asked."

"How would I know? I've never understood Celia. Why would any woman in her right mind choose to leave her family and go off to college, anyway? Especially somewhere so cold. It doesn't make any sense. I would have thought she'd go somewhere local, if she had to go to college at all."

Tom completely ignored this. "Was May involved?"

"May? No, I think they met in the fall. Maybe October."

Celia could hear Tom take a deep breath. He held it for a long time. "That's not what I meant. Was May McCrady, Celia's and Cassie's aunt, the reason Celia didn't marry Michael?"

Lauren laughed. "You must think I'm so silly!" she cried, hopping from her chair to stand next to him. "_That_ May. She always seems to be meddling in Celia's affairs, doesn't she? I don't know, though, about Michael. He seemed pretty cut up about it for a while, but he got over it. He dated around for a few years until he met Cassie. Then he just seemed to forget Celia was ever more than a friend."

Tom moved away slightly. "So there was no awkwardness when Cassie and Michael got married?"

Lauren sidled closer. "How would I know?" she asked playfully. "One day they were dating, and the next day they were married. I guess Michael took her to the justice of the peace and convinced her to get married on the spot. An elopement, you know," she added, as though she didn't think Tom understood what she was trying to say. "It was very romantic."

"Maybe that's what I should have done," Tom muttered.

Lauren must not have heard, or understood, because she kept talking. "We were kind of pulling for Celia to change her mind," she said. "Even though they weren't dating they stayed friends. Rachel and I always thought she'd be a better wife for Michael than Cassie is. Don't get me wrong," she said hastily when Tom looked at her, "we like Cassie all right. Celia is just . . . calmer. And not so needy."

That was funny coming from Lauren, Celia thought. She's a fine one to judge someone on their needy factor. She snorted before she could stop herself. She held her breath, hoping they hadn't heard her.

No one looked over, though, and Celia let her breath out slowly. Lauren's head was resting on Tom's shoulder by now. "Why do you want to know all this?" she asked. "Do you want to get married?"

"Not anymore," came Tom's grim response. "Come on. I've left my guests unattended long enough." Then the two disappeared back into the apartment.

Celia sat in the dark for a long time. What Lauren had related to Tom was largely true, although what he would get from the story was anyone's guess. He did have a knack for taking a very simple truth and twisting it into complete oblivion.

Would she do anything differently, knowing what she knew now? She didn't think so. She was glad Michael and Cassie had found each other; theirs was truly a match made in heaven. She had known the entire time she had dated Michael that he wasn't very serious; he had even confessed, several months after they had stopped dating, that he was under some pressure from his parents to settle down and get married, and she had been very convenient.

Tom -- now, Tom was a different story altogether. She realized now that she hadn't been ready to get married right out of high school, and even though she didn't want to admit it to herself, May had been right -- if she and Tom were meant to be together they could wait a few years. Evidently they weren't meant for each other after all.

She did wish, though, that she would find the person she _was_ meant for. It was getting tiring, watching everyone pair themselves off: Michael and Cassie, Jen and Scott, and now, it seemed, Lauren and Tom. Maybe she should have stayed in Michigan. She could have moved to the Upper Peninsula and lived out a very quiet existence. The idea was tempting.

Celia didn't know how long she had been sitting out there when Cassie came to find her. "I'm sorry to do this to you," she said apologetically, "but Lauren took off a little while ago and no one stayed to help Tom clean up. He has some really messy friends."

"Sure, I'll help." Celia sighed. She had really hoped to avoid Tom for a few days. Her track record with him in a foul mood wasn't that stellar.

When they got to Tom's apartment he was nowhere in sight. Michael was filling garbage bags with empty cans.

"Tom's outside making sure his friends have cab rides home," he informed them. "I'm almost ready to take these out to the garbage. All that's left is the vacuuming and the wiping up."

Cassie kissed him. "You're so sweet to do this," she said. "When you get back upstairs just go home. It shouldn't be too long before we get the rest of this mess cleared away."

Michael saluted her before he left.

"I'll take care of the vacuuming," Cassie said. "It'll give me practice." Her eyes were narrowed, as though she saw the vacuum as something to be conquered. Celia almost said something but thought better of it.

"All right. I'll be in the kitchen if you need me."

She was wiping off the kitchen table when Tom came back in. He was grumbling to himself and didn't notice Celia until he'd almost walked into her. "Good heavens! Where did you come from?" he exclaimed.

"Next door. I'm here with Cassie to help you clean up." She stopped to listen to the sound of the vacuum roaring to life. "I'd start praying if I were you," she went on. "Cassie's not that good with self-propelled appliances."

Tom grunted. He grabbed a washcloth and started to clean a spill on the other side of the room. It seemed to take all of his concentration. She tried to ignore him, but he was obviously upset about something. She hoped, selfishly, that it was Lauren.

They stayed like that for some time, the only sound the hum of the vacuum down the hall. Finally Celia put down her cloth and bent over to grab a can that had escaped Michael's notice. When she picked it up she caught Tom staring down at her. He looked away quickly, as if he were ashamed to be seen.

When she stood up he threw the towel in the sink and turned to her abruptly. "Why do you do it?" he asked.

When she just looked at him in confusion he said, "I mean it. Are you _trying_ to drive me crazy, or is it something you do without realizing it?"

Celia didn't have the faintest idea what he was talking about. Drive him crazy? Had she done something at the party? Her mind raced back but she couldn't remember anything that was even faintly offensive. "What are you talking about?" she asked.

Tom started to pace up and down the length of the kitchen. "Why didn't you marry Michael?"

Celia rolled her eyes. "Because I wasn't in love with him."

"Right. How long did you lead him on? Was I the only one you teased with the promise of eternal happiness, or do I share that honor with your brother-in-law?"

Celia slammed the can on the counter hard enough to crumple it. "What is it with my relationship with Michael that bothers you?" she demanded. "Yes, we dated. A long time ago. And yes, he proposed to me. I told him no. He moved on. End of story."

Tom sneered at her. "No, that's not the end of the story. I know perfectly well why you didn't marry him. May got to you again, didn't she? That's why Cassie had to elope with Michael -- because May would have been angry about her choice of husband. At lease she was sure enough of her feelings not to run at the first sign of trouble."

"That's ridiculous," Celia snapped. "May didn't even know I was dating Michael."

"What, were you ashamed of him too?"

Planting her hands on her hips, Celia looked him right in the eye. "I was never ashamed of you. And no, I wasn't ashamed of Michael either. I was avoiding May because I was sick of going on blind dates she insisted on setting up."

Tom stepped so close that she could see the gold flecks in his eyes. "Sure. Like I'm supposed to believe that."

Out of nowhere Cassie jumped between them, pulled back her right hand, and slapped Tom as hard as she could. "That's enough," she yelled. "We're leaving. You are not going to insult my sister and my husband anymore tonight." She stalked out of the kitchen, leaving a stunned Tom staring at her. Celia turned to follow, but Tom grabbed her arm.

"Were you telling me the truth just now?"

Suddenly weary, Celia didn't have the energy to deal with him anymore. "I don't lie," she said quietly. "I don't know what crazy idea you've come up with, but I like to think of myself as a fairly nice person. I made a mistake with you seven years ago, and I've never forgiven myself for it. Please don't assume anything else about me based on one mistake I made when I was a teenager. I've grown up a little since then." She looked down at his hand resting on her arm and then back up at his face, her own expression full of regret. Then she gently pulled her arm away and followed Cassie out of the apartment.

***

The next morning the largest bouquet of roses Celia had ever seen arrived at the front door. It was addressed to Cassie and Celia, and the card read simply, _"I'm sorry. T."_

Cassie sniffed but put the flowers on the kitchen table. She gave the card to Celia. "Maybe now he'll stop judging you," she told Celia. "If you don't want to forgive him that's up to you." She started to walk out of the room, but stopped to throw the day's paper on the counter in front of Celia. "You might want to check out page three," she said casually. Celia looked up at her in surprise. Cassie just smirked at her. "His columns are always very . . . revealing," she said as she turned to leave the room. "I've found out so much more about Thomas Elliot since I started reading the paper." She glanced back to see if Celia had moved, a knowing smirk on her face.

Since it was a weekend Celia was sure Cassie was confused; there wouldn't be a column to avoid today. Saturdays were always safe. She read the headlines on the front page, and when she turned it over to continue a story that had bled onto the next she stopped reading in disbelief. There was Tom's face, at the top of page three, where there should have been only a news article.

_Forgiveness_

_by Thomas Elliot_

_I came across an article not long ago that was written in the N__ew York Times__ four years ago, and since it directly relates to events that have recently happened to me, I convinced my editor to let me print this column. (She agreed, I think, because I've been trying not to get too personal lately, and this story is about as personal as it gets.)_

_Four years ago a young man, Ryan Cushing, and his friends stole a credit card and went on a senseless shopping spree. They bought, amongst other things, a 20 pound turkey._

_Once back in the car Mr. Cushing, for reasons unknown to this writer, decided to throw the turkey out of the window. It hit the car behind them with such force that it bent the car's steering wheel before hitting the driver, Victoria Ruvolo._

_Ms. Ruvolo underwent six hours of surgery to rebuild her face with metal plates, and while doctors feared that she had sustained lasting brain injuries, she recovered remarkably quickly._

_The __Times__ quoted the district attorney as saying that this is the sort of crime for which no punishment is harsh enough. "Death doesn't even satisfy them," he said._

_Which is why what transpired in the courtroom is so amazing. Ms. Ruvolo pestered prosecutors for information about her young assailant, wanting to know about the teenager and his background. Then she insisted on a lenient sentence._

_On his way out of the courtroom, Mr. Cushing stopped to speak with Ms. Ruvolo. He choked out an apology and began to cry. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," he said over and over._

_Ms. Ruvolo took him in her arms, patting his back and stroking his face as he sobbed uncontrollably. Many of the hardened prosecutors, and even a few reporters, had a hard time choking back their own tears._

_This story is remarkable for many reasons, the least of which is because it really happened. Forgiveness is always remarkable, but for someone to forgive a person who nearly killed you out of a single moment of sheer stupidity is simply amazing._

_I bring this story up not because I have used a frozen fowl to injure another person, but because I once again find myself in need of forgiveness. If I survive long enough, I may be the only reporter in the history of the __Tribune__ to have publicly offered an apology to the same person for doing the same thing over and over again._

_Like Mr. Cushing, I had a moment of sheer stupidity last night. Like an idiot, I let my insecurities get the best of me and I accused someone of being persuaded against something that I should feel grateful she didn't do. I then accused her of lying about it._

_So here I am, begging for forgiveness once again. I can only hope that she is as understanding and compassionate as Ms. Ruvolo was. The only recompense I can offer is not only to treat her like a human being, but also to stop, cold turkey, my propensity to misjudge and misunderstand. I didn't keep my last resolution all that well. The best I can hope for is a second chance to prove myself a better human being than I was yesterday._

Let me know what you think; I'd love to read your review!


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

"Can you cook?"

Celia looked up from her book to see her sister peering at her around the corner. "Not really," she admitted. "Why, Cass? Do you want lessons in that, too?"

Cassie made a face. "I wish I could say no," she said, "but I figured that if we're really going to do this economizing thing I should learn how to prepare our own meals and stop going out so much."

Celia was surprised that Cassie was embracing the idea of living without help so fully. Especially since she had rarely seen either Cassie or Michael eat a meal in their own kitchen. "I can get by, but I'm not a chef by any stretch of the imagination," she said. She wondered how much grief would come from admitting this.

Cassie laughed. "Oh, I'm not looking for something fancy. If I can make a few things Michael will be so thrilled that he won't notice that we're eating the same dishes every few days. At least, I don't think he'll notice."

"Does he still order the same thing every time you go to a restaurant?"

"Sure does. It drives me crazy."

Celia shot a sly smile at Cassie. "He will eventually, but for now I'd say you should feel grateful he's such a boring eater."

"So will you teach me how to make something?"

Thinking of the pancake disaster of a few days before, Celia opened her mouth to say no. Before she could get a word out, however, Cassie grabbed Celia's hand and pulled her up from the couch. "Let's go to the bookstore," she said with way too much enthusiasm. "I'm sure we'll find all sorts of cookbooks. Maybe I'll finally figure out what all the appliances in the kitchen are for!"

***

Several hours later they were back in the kitchen, new cookbooks littering the table and every available inch of counter space. Flour dusted the floor, making it slippery in spots, and there was a faint odor of burned bread throughout the apartment.

"I watched it that time," Cassie complained, lifting out another piece of blackened toast. "I swear I did."

Celia glanced at the toaster. "It's set for dark," she commented. "Maybe you should turn it down."

"But if I do that then I have to keep putting the bread back in and it ends up burned anyway."

Celia grinned at her and patted her shoulder. "Welcome to the kitchen," she said. Cassie just groaned.

Cassie had just thrown the third piece of toast away when the doorbell rang. "I'll get it," Celia said. "It looks like you need to focus on your toast." Cassie threw a piece of bread at her. "You're going to have a hard time learning to cook if you spend more time throwing food at the teacher than in doing what she says!" she called as she escaped down the hall.

She was still laughing when she opened the door, only to find Tom standing there with two white roses in his hand. Her hands flew to her flour-dusted cheek, but Tom didn't seem to notice. He just stood there as if transfixed.

They stayed like that for several seconds, not moving, and Celia was starting to wonder what she should do next, when Michael came around the corner. "What happened to you?" he asked Celia. "Is Cassie trying to cook again?" At Celia's nod he darted past Tom. "Excuse me, man, it may be an emergency," he explained, and disappeared into the kitchen.

That seemed to startle Tom out of his trance. His eyes flickered to the flower arrangement sitting on the foyer table. "Didn't you like the flowers?" he asked, and then seemed to remember the ones he was holding. "Oh," he said. "These are for you. And Cassie, of course."

Celia took the roses and sniffed them appreciatively. "Is white supposed to signify a peace offering?"

Tom had the grace to look uncomfortable. "Yeah," he mumbled. "I'm sorry about the way I behaved last night. I wish I had an excuse, but I don't."

Celia thought about the last time he had apologized to her. "That was a much better apology," she said after a few seconds. "You were right. You are a fast learner." Then she smiled at Tom and stood aside for him to enter the apartment.

She placed the two new roses into the vase and led Tom to the kitchen. "We were just cooking dinner," she said. "Or rather, we were cooking breakfast for dinner."

Tom took one look at the messy kitchen and snorted.

"Don't laugh," she warned. "It took us several hours to get it to look like this."

Michael poked his head in the oven. "Is this thing supposed to be on?" he asked.

Cassie threw her apron on the floor in disgust. "That's it!" she said. "I'm not cooking any more today. Let's go out for dinner."

Looking around at the mess, and starting to realize there would be no edible food coming from his kitchen that evening, Michael agreed. "Why don't you go change?" he suggested to his wife. "I'll start to clean up while we wait for you." He glanced at Tom and Celia. "You guys had better come, too," he advised. "Unless you don't want to eat dinner."

Tom glanced at Celia. "Fine by me," he said.

Cassie grabbed Celia by the hand and marched her to the bedroom. "Is this going to be too weird for you?" she asked once the door was closed behind them. "It's kind of like a double date."

"I'll be fine," Celia said, wishing it were true. "And it's not a double date. Tom's seeing Lauren, remember?"

Cassie rolled her eyes. "How can a person with a college degree be so stupid?" she asked. "He's not seeing Lauren; Lauren is seeing him. And he's obviously not that pleased about it."

"That's what you think," Celia retorted. "You're biased. You've never really liked Lauren all that much anyway."

Cassie just shrugged. "She doesn't like me either. Don't deny it," she warned. "Lying ages you twice as fast, and we both know you're not as young as you used to be."

Celia opened her mouth to protest, but Cassie laughed. "I know, I know," she said, pulling some clothes from the closet and tossing them at her sister. "You're still younger than Claudia." She grinned and walked out the door. "I'll meet you in the kitchen in five minutes. And wear that." She pointed to the clothes in Celia's hands and left the room.

The kitchen was clean when Celia walked in. She looked at Michael. "That was fast," she commented.

"Tom helped some."

"Thank you," she told Tom, who had pulled the pan out of the oven and was inspecting it. "You didn't have to do that."

"Neither did you, last night."

Celia didn't know what to say to that. "Well, thanks anyway."

Tom stood up. "I think you could salvage this," he said. "Was it supposed to be a quiche? It felt sloshy when I picked it up."

They both eyed the dish sitting on the counter. "That was the initial plan," she admitted, "but I had to leave the kitchen for a few minutes and when I got back it looked like that." The quiche, or what remained of it, looked like a pie with a very strange crust. "Cassie thought it would look prettier this way."

Tom was obviously trying hard not to laugh. "I've never seen one with a top crust before," he said as seriously as he could "It does have a certain . . . unique prettiness about it. I bet all the top chefs will be making quiches this way, once they discover Cassie's idea."

"Hey, are you two mocking my quiche?" Cassie sounded slightly hurt.

"Not at all." Tom's voice was almost serious, but Celia could see one end of his mouth quirking up. "Are you ready to go? I'm starved."

***

Tom disappeared when they got to the restaurant, saying he was going to get drinks. When they were seated, Jaime came over with their menus.

"Are you expecting someone else?" he asked, eyeing the empty spot next to Celia.

"Tom's at the bar," Cassie told him. "He should be here soon."

A mischievous expression flitted across Jaime's face. "I'll be back in a minute," he said before trotting away.

A few seconds later another waiter was at their table. He looked like a much younger – and thinner -- version of Jaime. "Hello," he said. "My name's Rob. My uncle was busy and asked me to take care of your table." He glanced at Cassie and Michael briefly before focusing on Celia. He looked at her for a moment and an appreciative glint appeared in his eyes. He sat down in the empty chair. "May I recommend the special tonight?" he asked.

"Sure." Celia wasn't sure what was going on until Rob slid a little too close to her and draped his arm over the back of her chair. "The carne asada is excellent this evening," he murmured, his hand closing around her shoulder. "Good enough to sink your teeth into." He bent over, his breath tickling her ear.

It was at that moment that Tom reappeared. He stopped cold behind Cassie and Michael and stared pointedly at Rob. "Isn't that seat supposed to be for me?" he asked. He sounded a bit confrontational.

"Sorry, man," Rob said easily, not moving an inch. "I was just helping Celia here with the menu."

"She knows what she wants." Tom placed the glasses he was carrying on the table next to Cassie, reached over, and took the menu from Celia. She looked up at him in surprise. "Are we ready to order?"

Cassie shot Celia a knowing look when Rob stood up and Tom slid into his chair. He left it where it was, although he didn't put his arm across the back of Celia's seat. She looked around the restaurant while the others placed their orders and spotted Jaime across the room. He was watching them, and when he caught Celia's eye he grinned and winked.

***

When they were finished eating Tom leaned his elbows on the table and cleared his throat. "Do you guys have anything going on next week?" he asked, not looking at Celia.

"I don't think so," Michael said. "I was thinking of taking a few days off. Why do you want to know? Did you want to go clubbing? I haven't done that in ages." He sounded a little wistful.

Cassie kicked her husband under the table. "We're not busy," she said firmly. "Although if you want to go to a club I might leave the country."

Tom half-laughed. "I need to visit a friend from college," he said. "He's going through a rough spot and needs some cheering up. I was hoping that if all of us went -- including Lauren and Rachel, naturally -- we could help him take his mind off his troubles."

"Where does your friend live?" Michael asked.

"Mackinac Island, up in Michigan."

Celia's eyes lit up. "I haven't been to Mackinac in ages!" she said. "Does he actually live on the island?"

"Wait a minute," Cassie interrupted. "Where's Mackinac Island?"

"It's in Michigan, almost to the Canadian border," Celia explained. "You can only get to it by ferry, and there are no cars allowed. It's one of the most beautiful places I've ever been to."

Cassie looked at Tom. "And your friend lives there?"

"Kind of. His parents own a house on the island, and Locke lives in it when there aren't any renters. His mom called me the other day and said he'd be there all next week."

Michael snorted into his drink. "Your friend's name is Locke?"

Tom made a face. "His parents were philosophy students when he was born, and their favorite was John Locke. He didn't stand a chance."

"What happened to him to make you need to visit all of a sudden?" Cassie asked.

"Six months ago he and his fiancée were on the lake, and somehow the fiancée fell into the water and drowned. Locke hasn't recovered from the guilt; he was driving the boat when it happened."

"Oh." Cassie's voice was small. "Of course we'd love to come, if you think we'd be any help. Michael and I were thinking about taking a vacation anyway, weren't we?"

Michael shrugged. "As long as I don't have to share a room with Lauren, I don't care where we go."

Tom turned to Celia. "Are you in?"

Celia hesitated. "I don't know," she said slowly, thinking of her dwindling bank account. "I still need to find an apartment and get settled before my job starts. I should probably stay home."

Cassie kicked her sister under the table and stood up. "Well, I think it's a great idea," she said. "I'll be in the restroom if you need me." She looked pointedly at Celia before she walked away.

Celia sighed. "I think she wants me to follow her," she told Michael. "I'll be back in a minute."

Jaime accosted her in front of the restroom. "What did you think of Rob?" he asked. The mischievous expression was still very apparent on his face. "He's a charmer, isn't he?"

"I know you sent him over on purpose," Celia told him. "And no, he's not a charmer. He's a flirt. You should keep your matchmaking to people who appreciate it."

"Oh, come on, Celia," Jaime protested. "He's my favorite nephew. He just wanted to get to know you, so I let him take your table. It was a personal favor to him."

"Sure. Please tell him that I'm not interested in strange men breathing down my neck."

"All right, all right." Jaime held up his hands in defeat. "I'll tell him. But he'll have to be your waiter for the rest of the evening. I'm short staffed tonight." He hurried away before Celia could argue that half of his family was loitering at the bar.

She pushed the restroom door open and found Cassie waiting for her. "The only person you haven't kicked tonight is Tom," she pointed out. "You should keep your feet to yourself. People will start thinking you're violent.

"I might kick him next," Cassie retorted. "He's acting like a ten-year-old."

Celia couldn't argue with that. "What do you want, anyway?" she asked wearily. "It must be something good to warrant that kick under the table. I may have a bruise in the morning."

"You poor baby." Cassie didn't sound very sympathetic. "Why are you putting up a fight about going to Mackinac with everyone? It'll be fun, and I know if you stay here by yourself you'll just sit around the apartment and be lonely. You need a break before your job starts."

The two of them stared at each other for a minute. "It'll just be too weird," Celia finally said. "It's one thing to go out to dinner with Tom when you and Michael are there; it's a whole different thing to go on vacation with him. You don't understand."

"Then tell me."

Celia sighed in frustration. "I can't," she said. "Things are strange enough, what with the newspaper articles – " She stopped talking when she saw Cassie's smile.

"I was wondering when you were going to mention that. I've been reading them too, you know."

Celia leaned against the wall. "I don't know what to do," she confessed. "Half of me wants to smack him for writing about me for the entire city to read, and the other half – the sick half – wonders what he'll write about next."

"At least there won't be any columns while he's on vacation."

"That's what I thought this morning. I don't know how he does it. That party ended last night way past deadline."

Cassie shrugged, apparently unconcerned. "I don't know why you haven't called him on it yet. If it were me, I'd probably stuff the paper up his – "

She stopped talking when the bathroom door opened. They let the woman go by, and then Cassie said in a lowered voice, "I think you should come. It'll give you a break before you have to be so independent again. And it is for a good cause, after all. I wonder what Locke's like. He'd probably really like you; you tend to attract people who are hurting. Maybe he just needs someone to care."

Celia hesitated. "I don't know . . . "

Cassie put her arm around her sister. "Please," she said quietly. "I don't think I can stand a whole week of Lauren without some help. And I know I'm not getting it from Michael."

"There's always Rachel."

Cassie shot her a frustrated look. "That's not the same, and you know it. Besides, she'll be on the phone with Ben the whole time."

Looking into Cassie's hopeful (and somewhat exasperated) face, Celia finally relented. "All right," she said. "I'll come." Her bank balance reappeared in her mind. Somehow, she told herself.

***

When Cassie told Tom that Celia would be accompanying them, he looked over at her and said simply, "I'm glad." Then he smiled, and for the first time in quite a while it looked genuine.

He stayed near her the rest of the evening. She wasn't sure if he was trying to warn off Rob or it was simply that they were the only unattached people in the group. When they reached Cassie's door he put a hand on her shoulder.

"Would you mind coming next door for a minute?" he asked quietly. "It won't take long," he reassured her when he saw her surprised expression. "I just need to ask you something."

She let him lead her to his door and stood awkwardly in the foyer while he turned on the lights. It looked very different from the last time she had been there, she realized. The furniture had been pushed back into normal positions, and with the brighter lights she could see the artwork hung on the walls. She walked over to inspect the picture over the mantel. It was of an old-fashioned girl with dark red hair, probably in her early teens, sitting by a stream and reading a book.

"This is lovely," she said in some surprise.

Tom glanced up. "You sound shocked."

"I'm not, at least not that you would have good taste in art. It's just that the girl in the picture reminds me of one of the characters from _Anne of Green Gables_."

"That's why I bought it."

Celia looked at him out of the corner of her eye. They had read the book together after he had protested that they were just silly things written for pre-adolescent girls. She had started reading them aloud initially to prove him wrong. She let her mind go back to the Sunday afternoon he had admitted that he liked the book.

They were in the park on a blanket underneath a maple tree, the crimson leaves falling into the stream next to them. She stopped reading for a moment and glared down at him.

"You aren't paying attention," she accused him.

"I am." His attempt to look sincere failed miserably.

"You were lying there with your eyes closed, and I know I heard deep breathing. You were asleep."

"Really, I wasn't. I was thinking, that's all."

Celia tilted her head and put the book down. "What were you thinking about?"

For a minute the only sound was the gurgling of the stream as it meandered through the park. "I was thinking a couple of things," Tom said finally. "I'll tell you, but you have to promise not to tease."

"I'll do my best."

Tom sighed. "I was thinking that this book isn't as bad as I originally told you. It might even be good."

Celia tried to swallow her laughter. "I won't tell you 'I told you so.'"

"That's big of you." He reached out and swatted her arm.

They were quiet again after that. Celia leaned back against the tree and looked up at the leaves. It was very peaceful, she thought dreamily. I think I could stay like this for a very long time. She was almost asleep when he spoke again.

"And I was thinking that I'm in love with you."

Celia raised her head and opened her eyes. Tom was sitting up, his brown eyes staring straight into hers.

"I – "

"Don't say it if you don't mean it."

She sat all the way up and brushed a leaf out of his hair. Then her hand drifted to his cheek. She leaned forward and smiled slightly. "I do," she breathed. "I do love you."

Tom caught his breath and moved toward her until their noses were almost touching. "I'm so glad to hear you say that," he whispered, "because I've wanted to do this for the longest time." Then he tilted his head, placed his hand on the back of her neck, and kissed her.

Tom's cough brought her out of her reverie. She blinked a few times and was surprised to feel tears swimming in her eyes. She looked away quickly, hoping he hadn't noticed. Before she turned away, though, she let her fingers trail across the bottom of the painting. "It fits the books," she said when she was sure her voice would be steady. "I can see why you like it."

Tom looked at her sharply. "Are you all right?"

Celia let out a shaky laugh. The memory of that first kiss was so sweet; she couldn't shake it from her mind. "I'm fine," she said before sinking onto the chair across from him. Then, remembering why she was there, she looked at him expectantly. "What did you want to ask me about?"

Tom suddenly seemed nervous. "I was wondering how you would feel if . . . if I . . . How are you planning on getting to Mackinac?"

Celia was startled by his abrupt question. "I hadn't come up with anything yet."

Tom took a deep breath. "Well, how would you feel if I told you I'd already paid for your plane fare?"

Celia opened and closed her mouth. When she finally found her voice she was sure it didn't sound natural. "I would say that you were awfully cocky to assume I'd go in the first place," she said, narrowing her eyes. "Why are you asking? Have you already bought my ticket?"

Reaching into his pocket, Tom pulled out a piece of paper. "I knew you would be tight on funds before your job starts," he said in a rush. "And before you get mad, please hear me out. I want to do this to make up for the way I've been treating you. I have been mean for no good reason other than my misguided assumptions, and I want to show you that I can do better."

Celia almost suggested that he stop alluding to her in the newspaper but caught herself before the words escaped. She needed to decide what she thought about those columns, but now was not the time. "You don't have to make such a grand gesture just to apologize for a few rude comments," she said at last. "It seems a little extreme."

Tom looked away in embarrassment. "Well, you don't know what I've been thinking for the past few weeks."

Her eyes flew to his. Was he admitting to worse things than those he had said out loud? "You must really think I'm horrible," she said quietly.

"But I don't!" Tom got to his feet and ran his hand distractedly through his hair, making it stand on end. It made her think of his constantly disheveled state in high school. "I think you're a wonderful person. I just happened to see things that most normal people wouldn't think twice about, and I twisted them into something completely . . . completely . . ."

"Unforgivable."

Tom winced. "Yes."

"That still doesn't mean you need to spend all that money just to say you were wrong."

Tom sat down, covered his face with his hands, and then got back up again. "I need to do something!" he burst out. "You're too nice to let me apologize the way I should. Would it help if I groveled?"

Celia shuddered. "Please don't."

"Then what can I do? If you won't take the ticket I'll have to swallow it since it's non-refundable. And I promised Locke I would -- " He stopped talking abruptly and walked behind the couch.

"You promised him what?"

"It's nothing," he muttered.

Celia didn't know what to say. It would probably help, she thought, if he knew she'd been reading his columns all along. Then he'd know that she'd already seen his (many) apologies. But did she want him to know? she asked herself again. She wasn't sure. It went back to what she had been talking to Cassie about that evening in the restroom at Jaime's. She wanted too many things.

"I can't accept this," she said, but she could tell that Tom knew she was starting to waver. "It's too much, and I know you're sorry – "

Tom waved the paper under her nose. "Please take it," he said softly. "Do it to ease my conscience. Then maybe we can move on and forget this whole mess ever started."

I highly doubt that, Celia thought, but took the paper with her flight information anyway. "Thank you," she said quietly. "I appreciate this more than I can say."

***

Before she knew it all the arrangements had been made and they were setting off for the airport. Lauren, naturally, had been enthusiastic about the trip and wasted no time attaching herself to Tom's side.

'Why do we have to go to Midway?" she said in a petulant voice. Celia assumed she was trying to sound cute and little-girlish.

"Because this flight had enough seats for everyone," Tom explained patiently.

"Well, I still don't see why we have to be on such a small plane."

"We're flying to a very small city. Pellston is the closest airport to Mackinac, and it isn't very big."

Rachel caught Celia's eye and grinned at her. She walked slowly past Tom and Lauren on her way to Celia, and when she stood next to her the grin had turned wicked. "I'm just waiting for him to tell her there are no cars on the island," she whispered.

Lauren's shriek of horror made everyone at the gate stare at her. "I think he just did." Celia grinned back at Rachel, and they started to laugh.

Rachel calmed down first. "Lauren brought half her closet," she said wryly, referring to the pink luggage she had made Tom carry into the airport. "I think she wants to be sure she's ready for any situation that might come up; you know, like a romantic weekend for two. Only with the added inconvenience of four chaperones."

Celia laughed. She hadn't seen much of Rachel since Ben got into town, and she had missed her. "How's Ben doing?" she asked.

"Great. The Cubs are on the road for the next week and a half, so this was good timing for me. Otherwise you'd be dealing with Lauren by yourself."

Glancing over at Lauren and Tom, Celia shuddered. "Please, no," she said. "Thank you for coming."

Rachel grinned at her. "Are you kidding? I wouldn't miss this for anything." She was laughing when they got on the plane and followed Celia to their seats. A few minutes before they took off Cassie got up and pulled on Rachel's arm.

"Change seats with me for a while, will you?"

The flight attendant had already checked to make sure everyone had a seatbelt on, but Rachel shrugged and got up anyway. "If I get in trouble for walking around when we're supposed to be securely buckled in I'll blame it all on you."

Cassie was silent for a while, but after they were safely in the air she turned to Celia. "I've been thinking," she started out.

"What?" Celia leaned closer to Cassie. The plane was _loud_.

"I said, I've been thinking." Cassie turned to speak directly in Celia's ear.

"Are you sure that's safe?"

Cassie pulled a face. "Very funny. I was actually thinking about something we talked about in the laundry room a few days ago. You know, about how much you've done in the past few years."

"I really appreciated that," Celia said.

"Yeah, well, it's all true." Cassie stopped talking. Tom and Lauren were sitting in the row in front of them, and even above the noise of the plane Celia could hear Lauren coo about how strong he was. "I don't think I could have lifted that suitcase all by myself," she was saying in a sweet voice.

Cassie stuck her head around the seat in front of her. When her head reappeared she was trying not to laugh. "She's got her hand on his bicep," she said as quietly as she could. "Tom looks like he might bolt any minute." She started to laugh. "He may need to be rescued before he jumps into Lake Michigan."

Celia snickered. She didn't feel too guilty; after all, Tom was the one that had started to flirt with Lauren. "What were you saying before you got distracted?" she said in an attempt to move the conversation away from Tom and his clingy girlfriend.

"I don't remember."

"You told me you had been thinking about our conversation in the laundry room . . . "

"Oh, right." Cassie suddenly got very serious. "I've decided to go to college."

Celia could feel her mouth hanging open. "What? Why?"

"Well, if you could do all those cool things -- go to school, get a job, meet hot men – then why can't I? You did it on your own. I'm sure it'll be easier with Michael around to help me study."

"That's great!" Celia tried not to look so shocked. "But why now? You never had any inclination to go to college before. What made you change your mind?"

Cassie's eyes strayed to the seat in front of them. "There's not a whole lot to do all day," she confessed. "I didn't realize what little I was doing until Lauren and Rachel moved in downstairs. I started to see myself in the way Lauren, especially, acted, and I wasn't too thrilled with what I saw. So I decided to do something about it."

Leaning over, Celia hugged her tightly. "I'm so proud of you," she said, feeling a little misty-eyed. "I can't believe my little sister is growing up. If you ever need any help with your English homework, you know who to call."

Cassie's expression was sly when she pulled away. "You're right. I guess I should put Tom's phone number on speed dial." She laughed and stood up when Celia started sputtering a protest. "I know, I know, family first." She bent closer, her breath tickling Celia's ear. "I think I'd better create a diversion. Tom looks like he's going to be sick."

She walked back to her original seat, holding to the seat backs as she went to steady herself against the turbulence, and said something to Rachel. Rachel looked back at Lauren and then nodded her head. She was grumbling when she walked back. "I thought musical chars was for elementary school," Rachel said under her breath.

"Move out, Tom," Celia heard Rachel say in a defeated tone. "You're back by Celia now."

"Sure," he said a little too quickly.

The flight attendant came on the intercom while Tom was in the aisle. "Please remain in your seats for the remainder of the flight," said her stern voice. Tom fell into the seat next to Celia at a particularly large bump and buckled himself in as quickly as he could.

When he sat down next to Celia he drew in a deep breath. Then he looked at her, leaned his head close to hers, and held out his hand.

"Hi, I'm Tom Elliot. Do you mind if I sit by you?"

Celia stared at him. She hadn't been this close to Tom in a long, long time, and the smell of him made her a little unfocused. "What are you doing?" she asked, keeping her hands in her lap.

"Starting over. It seems like all we've done since we were reacquainted is argue, and I hoped that now that things have calmed down some we could pretend we had just met."

Celia looked at him closely. He looked younger, almost as if some of the weight he had been carrying had been lifted somehow. She smiled and placed her hand in his. "I'm Cecilia Fuller," she said, "but most people call me Celia. Pleased to meet you, Tom."

His sudden grin almost knocked her out of her seat. "What are you reading?" he asked, glancing at the book on her lap.

She turned it over so he could see the cover. "_Romeo and Juliet_," she said, feeling like she needed to defend herself. How many people read Shakespeare for fun? "I didn't think I had a handle on it when I took that Shakespeare course a few years ago and thought I'd give it another chance."

"Interesting choice." Tom took the book and flipped idly through it. "I always thought Romeo was an idiot for not checking to see if Juliet was still breathing before he did himself in," he mused. "He knew the plan, just not that it had changed. You would think he would have at least checked."

"You might," Celia commented, watching him scan the pages of the play, "but you're not a hormonal teenager getting married behind your parents' back, either."

A strange expression flitted across Tom's face. "True," he said. "At least I'm not anymore."

Celia could feel her face getting hot, and she couldn't think of anything to say. After a minute of uncomfortable silence Tom cleared his throat.

"So tell me what you've been doing for the past seven years," he said. "Start the day after we last spoke."

Celia leaned her head back against the seat. "That was so long ago," she said. "It seems like I waited around for two years for Henry to change his mind about college. And I went on way too many blind dates."

"Did any of them make it to second dates?" Tom's tone was carefully neutral.

"A few," she admitted. "But never more than two."

"Until Michael."

Celia laughed. "Michael was different. He had such a calm personality, and at the time I needed someone who wouldn't pressure me to do anything. He was amazingly easy to talk to, and he made me laugh."

"But when he asked you to marry him, you said no."

Celia turned her head to look at him strangely. "You can't get over that," she said. "What's the big deal? Michael didn't really want to marry me; he told me so himself. He was under pressure from his parents to find a nice girl and settle down, and he figured he could do worse than to marry me. I never told him I was in love with him, so he wasn't going in under false pretenses."

"I know; you've said that all before," Tom said. "Did you ever go out with Alex Stanfield?"

Surprised that he remembered Alex, Celia laughed softly. "No, thank goodness. He was the one person May wanted me to go out with the most, and I somehow managed to avoid him. I still haven't met poor Alex. For all I know he's a perfectly lovely person. Maybe he's even my Lauren." She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. If he had been any of her other friends she would have shuddered and then laughed; Lauren was not a person she would wish on anyone, but she was pretty sure Tom didn't see it that way.

"I somehow doubt that." Tom's voice sounded sour.

Celia looked out of the window and then, deciding it was time to change the subject, went on. "After I figured out that Henry wasn't going to change his opinion about higher education I decided to go to school anyway. I applied to several out-of-state colleges, got into the University of Michigan, and off I went."

"What did you major in?"

"English lit. I loved every minute of it, even though it took me five years to graduate."

"Why did it take so long?" Tom sounded genuinely curious.

"Well, I didn't want to get out of school to face a mountain of debt, so I got a few jobs and that took time away from studying. And then Jen got me interested in volunteering at the hospital, and that took even more time."

"Volunteering?"

Crap, Celia thought. It shouldn't still be this easy to talk to Tom. I open my mouth and all sorts of things I want to keep to myself come tumbling out before I can stop them. "Yes," she said. "I spent a few hours every week at the children's hospital in Ann Arbor."

A loud sound, like someone clearing her throat in disgust, came from the row in front of them.

"All right, all right." Celia sighed in resignation. "I spent a little more than a few hours there every week. And it's really good that I did, or I might not have landed this job at the library."

"How does Rachel know how much time you spent volunteering at a children's hospital in another state?" Tom whispered, glancing at Rachel's seat.

"We met when I was dating Michael, and we emailed sporadically throughout my college years. She used to tease me that I'd never find anyone interesting over the age of twelve." Celia paused. It was time to turn the conversation around again. "What about you? What did you do after you left?"

Tom looked away. "I went out to find my fortune," he said at last, and then laughed. "I was determined to make something of myself. But that's hard to do when you're eighteen and stupid, so it took me a while before I figured out that I should go to college and then try to make my mark on the world. Northwestern was an easy choice, and I ended up majoring in journalism. Locke, who you'll meet later, was my first roommate."

"He's been through a tough time, hasn't he?"

Rubbing his eyes, Tom nodded. "What he really needs is a friend," he said quietly. "I wish I could be the person he needs, but for whatever reason he won't talk to me. I'm hoping he finds a connection with someone on this trip."

Celia was silent for a long time. She wondered if Tom wanted her to meet Locke to get her out of his hair. When she looked at him again, almost tempted to ask, his head had fallen back against the cushion of the chair. He was fast asleep.

***

When the plane landed in Traverse City they were met by an older couple who looked happy to see them. They hugged Tom before he introduced them. "These are Locke's parents, Mr. and Mrs. Beryl," he said, and then proceeded to give everyone's name.

"We're so happy you could come," Mrs. Beryl said in a pleased voice. "I know Locke will be happy to see you as well."

Celia followed the group out of the airport. She slowed down, closed her eyes, and breathed in the fresh air, holding it in her lungs as long as she could.

"Does it smell different than the air in Chicago?" Tom's voice sounded amused.

"It does, actually," she said. "It smells less like a city. Greener, I would call it."

Grinning, Tom inhaled. "Nope. Smells the same to me."

"That's because you're city folk," she retorted.

"And proud of it."

"Are you two coming?" Celia could hear Cassie's voice across the parking lot.

She smiled ruefully at Tom. "It looks like we've fallen behind."

Tom grabbed her suitcase from her hand and started walking toward the Beryl's car. "Come on," he said over his shoulder. "Locke's anxious to meet you."

Celia thought about this statement on the way to the house. Why would Locke want to see her? As far as she knew she had never met him. Had Tom been talking about her? The idea seemed ludicrous. Why would Tom waste his time speaking of a girl who had dumped him years before?

Ah, her subconscious cut in, but he's been friends with Locke for a long time. Maybe he spilled his guts at some party when he'd been drinking too much. Or, (and here her mind got a sly edge to it), perhaps he never got over you.

Celia squirmed in her seat and tried to erase the voice from her head. Of course Tom had moved on, she told herself sternly. Otherwise he wouldn't be seeing Lauren.

Celia got her first glimpse of Locke when they were taking the suitcases from the car. He opened the front door of his parent's house and walked slowly down the sidewalk toward them. He wasn't smiling, but she could see a glimmer of happiness in his expression when he spotted Tom. Tom put the suitcase he was carrying on the ground and walked forward to embrace his friend.

When they parted, the emotion on Locke's face was almost more than Celia could stand to watch. She looked away to hide her reaction, but Tom called her over.

"This is Celia Fuller," he said simply.

Locke looked at Celia with some interest and clasped her hand. "You're the famous Celia," he said before Tom stepped on his foot.

Celia looked up into Locke's face (why did tall people all have tall friends? she wondered. It would be nice to be introduced to someone who didn't tower over her for a change) and saw a combination of feelings cross his features. The most prominent was pain, and it was so acute that she caught her breath, put her arms around him, and held on. Locke went rigid with surprise and then his hand found their way to her back. Over his shoulder Celia could see Tom watching them. He looked strange, as though he had gotten what he wanted only to find that he didn't really want it after all.

When they separated Locke said, "I see what you mean, Tom. Hopeless to the core."

Celia couldn't figure out what they were talking about, but Tom cleared his throat, looking very uncomfortable. "What time are we leaving for the island?" he asked.

"Not until tomorrow. By the time we drove to the harbor it would be too dark to see anything, so we'll have to sail first thing in the morning."

Hearing this, Lauren walked over and took Tom's arm. "We have to stay here overnight?" she whined. "I was looking forward to our boat cruise, Tom."

"It's not exactly a boat cruise." Celia tried to sound patient. "It's a ride on a big boat with lots of other people."

"Actually," Locke said in his quiet tone, "I have my own boat." Seeing Celia's embarrassment, he went on quickly, "but it's not very romantic, if that was what you were looking for."

Celia shot him a grateful look. "Thanks," she said in a low voice.

The corners of Locke's mouth lifted almost imperceptibly. "I think I'm going to like you, Celia Fuller. Maybe you're what I've been looking for."

Celia smiled back at him. "Maybe so," she agreed. And for the first time since she had seen Tom Elliot again, she allowed herself to feel a small measure of hope.

***

The next morning Celia was eating a bagel on the back porch when Cassie found her. She was carrying a piece of paper and a mug. "I just found this on the kitchen table," she said, waving the paper. "I thought you might be interested in reading it."

She handed Celia a printout of Tom's column. It was dated that morning.

"What's this?" Celia asked, suspicious.

Cassie shrugged. "It looks like this is a working vacation for Tom after all." She put her free arm around Celia's shoulder. "I believe he's starting to come around," she said, and then disappeared inside the house.

_Lost Dreams_

_by Thomas Elliot_

_I was on a plane headed for Michigan yesterday when I got into a conversation with my seat mate about __Romeo and Juliet__, of all things. I read it in high school, like most of you were probably forced to do, and on this particular trip the ending of the story hit me as being tremendously ironic. For more than one reason._

_To recap for those of you who read the Cliff's Notes version the night before your English test and then tried your darndest to forget you ever heard about the Capulets and the Montagues, the ending goes something like this: Romeo and Juliet got married in secret and then hatched an absurd plan to fake Juliet's death so they could move away and live happily ever after. Of course, like all such plots, it didn't go exactly as planned, and while Juliet took the potion that would make her appear dead, she did it a day early. When Romeo discovered this he automatically assumed she really was dead. He then proceeded to kill his best friend and then poisoned himself. Juliet woke up just after all this happened (of course) and stabbed herself in the heart._

_I could give a dissertation on the evils of assuming things, but that isn't the point of this column. The ironic part for me is twofold: I was only a few years older than our poor misguided Shakespearean friends when I first decided to get married. I was, most likely, just as dumb as they were. Like Romeo, after my ex dumped me I thought my life was over. I didn't go and do myself in, obviously, but I was fairly self-destructive for a time. And they say life doesn't imitate art . . ._

_The college roommate that I was en route to visit yesterday pulled me out of purgatory and helped me to see that life does go on, even when you don't think it will. There are all sorts of quotations about love, most of which are horrible and untrue, but the one I found that fit me the most was, strangely enough, by Mr. Shakespeare himself: "The course of true love never did run smooth." Of course it doesn't. It didn't for me, and it didn't for my roommate several years later, and that leads me to the second irony._

_This roommate managed to escape from college unattached and under-employed, but that all changed last year when he met the girl of his dreams. After a short courtship he proposed; she said yes; and the date was set for three months later. Sounds pretty smooth to me._

_The smooth sailing ended two weeks before the wedding. I don't know all the particulars; he won't talk about it, and the details that I do know I know only because I've been in close contact with his parents since it happened six months ago. He and his lady love were cruising across a lake in his motorboat one evening, as they had done many times before, when he had to turn suddenly to avoid an oncoming boat that was dangerously close to them. When he turned, his fiancée fell into the water and was killed when the other boat ran over her._

_For months now a small group of us have been trying to convince my friend that this wasn't his fault, but nothing has worked. He finagled me into taking my ex on this vacation so he could meet her, and while she knew that he was going through a rough time she didn't know any of the finer points of his story._

_So imagine my surprise when, upon being introduced, she took one look at him, saw what he needed, and did the most beautiful thing she could. She took him in her arms and embraced him._

_This may sound sappy or silly or just plain dumb, but in that instant he seemed to snap out of his guilt and grief and allowed himself to feel another human being's soul. It was marvelous to watch. I may have just witnessed the beginning of a glorious relationship._

_And this brings me back to my last irony. I may have been the means of uniting two deserving people, and while I rejoice that my friend may have started his healing process, I can't help but feel that somehow he is doing so at my expense._

_Things didn't work out for Romeo and Juliet. I can only hope that I can learn from their mistakes and turn my own poison into an antidote. I just have to keep the dagger hidden._

I know it's been a while since I posted, but the holidays can be torture on writing time. If you want to see more, review!


	8. Chapter 8

Many thanks go to Linnea for beta-ing this for me. She has great taste in music, by the way.

Chapter Eight

Half an hour later Celia was still sitting on the back porch, staring unseen at the trees lining the backyard. Was Tom jealous of Locke? Did she want him to be? Deep down she knew she did, but that meant that she cared what Tom thought. The last time she did that she ended up dreaming about him for seven years, and there was no way she was going to invite that mess back in her life. She was done with disappointment.

Celia heard the door slap shut behind her. Without looking to see who was behind her, she shoved Tom's column under her plate.

"What are you hiding?"

At the sound of Rachel's voice Celia felt her shoulders tighten. Rachel had a knack for ferreting out hidden information, and she didn't want to talk about Tom or his column. Especially not now, with him sleeping just up the stairs. "Nothing," she said shortly, and turned her attention back to the trees.

Rachel sat beside her and stared in the same direction for a few seconds. "Whatever's out there can't possibly be as exciting as that paper I saw you hide under your plate."

Celia didn't respond. It was hard to ignore Rachel when you knew something she wanted, though, and this was no exception. "Celia. Pay attention."

When that didn't get a reaction either, Rachel reached over and grabbed the sheet of paper before Celia had even registered that she'd moved.

A few seconds passed before Rachel spoke again. "Oh, it's just Tom's column. There was a copy in the kitchen, too. What do you think of it?"

Celia shrugged. "It's all right."

Rachel jabbed her in the ribs. "Are you insane? The man is practically confessing his undying love for you, and all you can say is that it's all right?"

"He's not confessing anything. It's some stupid ploy journalists use to sell more papers."

"He's not making this up."

Celia huffed in frustration. This was not something she wanted to discuss. "Come on, Rachel. He doesn't have any feelings for me. All that ended a long time before I met you. He's seeing Lauren, and all this crap in the newspaper is some elaborate story he made up to get a solid readership. That's it." She stood up and took her plate out of Rachel's hands. "I'm going to see when we're leaving."

Rachel's look was triumphant. "I knew you two had more history than just being high school classmates. Did you date him?"

Celia refused to answer and opened the door.

"Fine." Rachel followed her into the kitchen. "I'll find it all out eventually, don't worry. But I do find it interesting that at least two copies of his column appear in a house miles away from any _Tribune_ newspaper. It seems to me that he either wants you to read it, or he's warning Locke to stay away from you. And no matter what you say, Tom is not in love with Lauren. She's my only sister, but I pity the fool who she convinces to marry her. And trust me, it won't be Tom."

"Stop it!" Celia cried out, then went on more quietly. "If Tom doesn't like Lauren, he's doing an awfully good job of pretending. It's obvious that she's after him, and he's not exactly running away."

"That's true," Rachel conceded. "But we both know that men are fools when it comes to affairs of the heart."

"What about Ben?"

"Ben's in a league all his own."

Celia rolled her eyes. "Of course he is," she said. "That's why you're marrying him."

Rachel threw Tom's column in the trash and grinned. "You're darn right."

Celia was wandering down the hall, looking for someone who would know what time they were leaving, when she heard music -- loud, angry, organ music. She followed the sound to the end of the hall and hesitated. She didn't want to intrude, but the musician hadn't made any effort to keep the sound quiet. She pushed open the door and peered inside.

The room was large and empty save for a pipe organ at one end. Celia's eyes widened in astonishment. How many people had their own personal pipe organ? The only light on was above the organist, illuminating the music and the top of the player's bowed head.

She walked across the room and stood behind him until he finished. When the last notes had faded she said quietly, "I've always loved that song. Bach is one of my favorites."

Locke raised his head slowly and turned to look at her. She wondered idly why she hadn't startled him. "You know the classics?" he asked.

"Some. I almost wore out my copy of his "Toccata and Fugue in D Minor" a while back. You play it very well."

"I should," he said with a hint of self-loathing in his voice. "I play it often enough."

Celia cleared her throat. "That's a very impressive instrument," she said.

Locke grimaced. "My grandmother was a professional organist. She used to play for several of the local churches, and had this in her house for practicing. She left it to me when she died." He swiveled around on the bench and flipped a switch. The room was flooded with light that reflected off the mirrors that lined the walls.

"What's this room used for?" Celia marveled, moving to stand in the center of the open space. Locke walked past her and opened the drapes at the far end, exposing windows that ran the full length of the wall. The effect was amazing.

"This is my parents' studio," he said from across the room. "They teach dance."

"Do they have very many students up here?"

Locke shrugged and came toward her. "Not as many as they did when I was a kid," he said, "although that ballroom dance show on TV brought in some more."

"It must be fascinating."

"It is, I guess. I'm usually the accompanist, unless they're short male dancers. Then they just use a CD player."

"No wonder you play so well," she said, looking at the organ.

Locke's smile was still slight, but more pronounced than it had been the night before. It's almost as though he hasn't smiled in a long time, Celia thought, and he's just now remembering how. "I prefer the piano, actually," he said, motioning to a baby grand that had been hidden in the darkness before. "But for the Toccata you really need an organ."

Celia smiled back at him. "I have fond memories of my mother playing the piano," she said. "Playing it now reminds me of her."

This time the corners of Locke's mouth lifted to actually be called a smile. "Play for me," he said, and hurried over to open the piano for her. "It's been tuned recently, so it should sound pretty good."

Celia hesitated. She hadn't played for anyone in a long time, mostly because college apartments rarely came equipped with musical instruments, and she had never seen fit to mention to Jen that she could play.

"Please, Celia." Locke appeared almost hopeful.

With a sigh, Celia agreed. "Don't expect anything too fancy," she warned. "I haven't practiced in a while, and I don't have very many things memorized." She sat down at the piano and ran through a few scales to warm her fingers. Then she started Beethoven's

"Moonlight Sonata."

Halfway through the piece Locke sat on the bench next to her. He placed his head on top of the piano and closed his eyes. He was so close that Celia could hear him breathing. She almost thought he was asleep, but he opened his eyes slowly when she struck the last chord. "That was lovely," he said quietly and sat up. "You play like you understand how I feel."

Celia could tell she was blushing. She looked up over the top of the piano and met Tom's eyes in the mirror opposite her. He must have heard the music, she thought, and assumed it was Locke. Tom looked from Celia to Locke, who was still leaning on the piano with his arm touching her shoulder.

"Lauren wants to know when she can ride your yacht," he said, keeping his attention on Locke.

Locke grimaced. "The _yacht_ will leave in half an hour," he said sourly. "You can tell her the butler's on vacation, so she'll have to carry her own suitcase to the car."

"Suitcases," Celia corrected. "She brought three."

"Isn't there some sort of luggage restriction?"

"Not if you don't mind paying large amounts of money. Rachel says her sister wanted to be sure she was prepared for any scenario, so she brought half her closet."

"That's only half?" Tom cut in. He didn't sound pleased.

"According to Rachel."

"Good heavens," Tom muttered as he left the room.

Locke looked at Celia quizzically. "High maintenance?"

"Oh, yeah." They looked at each other and tried not to laugh.

Celia stood up and started to put the piano back in its original state. "Don't bother," Locke told her. "I'll only have to put it back up in a few days." At Celia's curious expression he explained, "I need to come back to play for a lesson. You can come if you'd like a free crash course on the waltz."

"I already know -- "

"Then you can come for fun, and to relieve me of the boredom."

Thoughts of Tom and Lauren on a carriage ride ran through Celia's mind. "I'll be there," she promised. Anything to get away from the lovebirds.

***

"_That's_ what we're riding?" Lauren's voice, usually so sweet it made Celia's teeth ache, was quickly approaching the shrillness of the Wicked Witch of the West.

Tom winced and grabbed her arm. "The Bayliner will get you safely to Casa Beryl," he said through gritted teeth. "If you prefer, though, I can take you to the ferry and you can meet us on the island."

Lauren clutched his arm. "A ferry doesn't sound too bad," she said. Her voice was back to normal.

"Oh, you're going to ride the ferry?" Locke asked as he lifted the second of Lauren's pink suitcases into the boat. "That's not a bad idea. With all this luggage one of you was going to have to sit on someone's lap."

Celia could see the wheels turning in Lauren's head as she looked at the boat appraisingly. "I wouldn't mind that," she cooed, "as long as Tom doesn't think little old me would be too heavy for him."

Cassie snorted and turned away, her hand over her mouth. She looked at Celia and her shoulders started to shake. "Are you all right?" Michael asked in some concern, patting her on the back.

"I'm fine," she gasped. "I just need a moment."

Celia's eyes were glinting in amusement when she looked at Locke. He glanced from her to Lauren and when he looked back at Celia he was grinning. He cocked his head toward the boat and Celia hurried over to him.

"I don't really need your help," he said in her ear. "You just looked like you needed to get away from Pinkie."

"Pinkie?"

Locke kicked the last of the pink suitcases, looked pointedly at Lauren, who was wearing a bright pink shirt, and raised his eyebrows.

"Oh. That's very . . . fitting." Celia couldn't keep the smirk off her face.

Once they were seated (Cassie on Michael's lap as well as Lauren on Tom's), Locke started the boat and stared straight ahead as he drove toward the island. Celia watched him as he steered, his back rigid and his knuckles white against the black of the steering wheel. Celia, who was sitting next to Tom and his giggling seat mate, nudged him.

"Does he need a distraction?" she asked quietly.

Tom looked at Locke's tense body and nodded. Celia leaned over and put her hand on Locke's back. "Do you usually ferry people across to the house?" she asked him.

"No."

"How do they get there?"

"They take the ferry and then walk to the house. I usually pick up their luggage from the dock."

Celia could feel Locke's muscles ease slightly under her fingers and decided to keep him talking. "Tell me about the house," she said.

Even though he didn't turn his head to look at her she could see the smile on his face. "The house is amazing," he said. "It's been in the family for several generations. You'll see why I love it so much when we get there."

"If it's so great why don't you and your parents live there year round?"

Locke chuckled. "We got tired of being isolated on the island in the winter," he said. "There's no easy way off Mackinac without a plane when the weather gets bad. And the dance classes are fun, but they barely bring in enough money to pay the bills. Renting out Casa Beryl gives us more financial freedom." He paused as they rounded the island. "There it is," he said proudly. "Up on the hill."

Celia looked up and saw the most beautiful house she had ever seen. It was Victorian in style, and the morning sunlight glinted off its many windows. "Is that a porch on the second floor?" she asked, not taking her eyes from the house.

Locke nodded. "There's a sunroom on the main floor, too," he said. "It has a terrific view of the Round Island Lighthouse."

Celia gazed up at Casa Beryl. It looked like the perfect place for an escape. Maybe, if she was lucky . . .

"I don't suppose you have an internet connection?"

Locke looked sidelong at her. "Anxious to read the news, are you?" His voice was nonchalant, but his eyebrows were raised as though he knew why she was asking. "No, I don't have the internet. If you're really desperate you can walk down to the internet cafe down on Main Street."

"That's perfectly all right." Celia could feel her body relaxing. Finally, she was going to escape those wretched columns.

***

Lauren's estimation of Locke increased rapidly as he showed them the house. She oohed and aahed about the many bedrooms (there were six) and was in raptures over the view. After a few minutes of listening to this, Celia let the others get ahead of her and wandered into the library.

It was obviously Locke's favorite room in the house, for it not only had books packed into the shelves lining the walls, it also had a baby grand piano next to the window overlooking the Mackinac Bridge. Pictures of old sailing ships were scattered on the small tables made to hold stacks of books. "I could live in this room very happily," she said out loud as she fingered the spines of the books closest to her.

"So could I." Tom's voice was low as he walked slowly to the center of the room and sat down on one of the couches placed conveniently near a reading lamp. "My goal is to make my future home look like this library."

"I can see why people would want to rent this house," Celia mused. She ran her hand across the piano and stood near the window. She had to admit that Lauren was right about the view; it really was fantastic. "Does the Beryls' land extend down to the beach?"

His eyes closed, Tom nodded. "They sometimes have campfires down there for their guests," he said languidly. "We could ask Locke about that if you want."

Visions of a fire under the stars ran through Celia's mind. "That sounds divine," she sighed, and sat down on the other end of the couch. She put her feet on the cushion and rested her chin on her knees. "Do you think he would mind?"

Tom opened his eyes and looked steadily at her. "You still sit like that," he said, sounding faintly surprised. "I think you could ask Locke anything. He seems to really like you." His words were so soft that she almost missed them.

Celia looked down. "He's a great guy," she said after a long pause. "I can see why you were so worried about him, though. I'm surprised he agreed to take all of us over here in the boat."

"I was, too. You were great helping him calm down back there. I owe you one."

Celia looked up at him in confusion. "I didn't do anything but distract him," she said. "Anyone could have done that."

"But no one else did," Tom pointed out. "Not even me, and I've been his friend for a long time. I should have been paying more attention." He leaned his head back and stared up at the ceiling.

"You were a little distracted," Celia said lightly.

"I was."

"Lauren was very . . . appreciative of the use of your lap."

"Lauren?" Tom sounded confused. "I didn't mean -- oh, right. Yes, well, she was pretty grateful, wasn't she?"

A little too grateful, thought Celia sourly, remembering the way Lauren had clung to him as he helped her out of the boat. She shook her head and closed her eyes. She shouldn't care what Tom did with his girlfriend. She tried to convince herself that her reaction would be different if the girlfriend wasn't Lauren, but gave up when her eyelids started to grow heavy. The room was warm from the midday sun streaming in through the windows, and within minutes she was asleep.

***

Celia was so comfortable that she didn't want to open her eyes when she finally woke up. She was stretched out on the couch, and she wondered idly what had happened to Tom. There was something soft and warm tucked around her, and she realized that someone had covered her with a blanket. She smiled, thinking Cassie had found her and, knowing how little sleep she had been getting lately, had taken pity on her.

She finally convinced her reluctant eyes to open and found herself looking at Tom. He had moved sometime in the middle of her nap and was sitting in a chair across from her, his feet propped on the coffee table between them. She blinked sleepily at him and smiled, rubbing her eyes. She wondered how long he had been sitting there watching her.

"What time is it?"

He glanced at the clock over the mantel. "Five o'clock. You've been out for a while."

"I'm sorry; I should have been helping Cassie or Locke -- "

Tom made a face and interrupted her. "You're on vacation, too," he reminded her. "If you need to sleep through it, then go right ahead."

"Well, I still should have been doing something." Celia hated taking naps. Well, no, she really loved them; she just hated how she felt when she woke up, like she should have been doing something else that wasn't so selfish.

"Besides," Tom said, "you looked too cute to wake up. You still talk in your sleep, you know."

Oh, please, thought Celia in some desperation. She tried to remember if she had dreamed about anything in particular. "Please tell me I didn't say anything too embarrassing."

"Nothing too bad," he said. "You did proclaim your undying love . . ."

Celia covered her face with the blanket.

". . . for the guy who installed Cassie's washer and dryer. You need to get over this thing you have for laundry."

She threw a pillow at him and sat up. "Where is everyone?" she asked, trying to change the subject.

"Down at the beach. Locke offered to stay, but I told him he could take everyone down and I'd follow when you were awake."

"Thanks," Celia said. "I'm surprised you didn't leave me a note so you could go down with Lauren. She probably would have liked that."

Tom shrugged. "She was busy yammering at Locke about how much the house was worth," he said. He didn't look sorry he missed it. "And I didn't want you to get lost."

"Thanks," Celia repeated. She wasn't sure how to take this new, polite Tom. He made her nervous. "Let me run up to my room and I'll meet you back here in a few minutes."

The beach was empty when they got there save for the inhabitants of Casa Beryl. Michael was kneeling on the sand trying to light a fire, while Cassie and Rachel hovered nearby offering advice which he was studiously ignoring.

When Lauren spotted Tom she ran over to him and wrapped her arm around his waist. "You're so chivalrous!" she said. "That was so nice of you to stay up there all by yourself so Celia could take a nap." She glanced at Celia condescendingly.

Tom shrugged, obviously uncomfortable about what Lauren was implying. "It was no trouble."

Locke looked up from his amused perusal of Michael's fire and took in Celia's expression. He got up from his seat on the blanket he had been sharing with Lauren and sauntered over. "Did you sleep well?" he asked, grabbing the bag of hot dogs she had thought to bring with her.

"I did, actually. I think I might move into your library."

Locke's eyes creased when he smiled. "It's a deal," he said. He stole a look at Tom's stony expression. "We'll have to hammer out the details later. I think it's high time Michael learned how to properly light a fire." He grabbed her arm and led her to the blanket before he shooed Michael away from his sad pile of smoking branches. To Michael's disgust he had the fire burning within minutes.

"Is there anything that guy can't do?" Michael grumbled. "He plays the piano, he dances, he owns a boat, he lights fires -- I'm starting to feel very insecure here."

"Poor baby," Cassie said, patting him on the back. "You're good at other things. You just don't have a lot of Renaissance man qualities."

"Thanks a lot." Michael sounded irritated, but he pulled her close to him.

Celia was surprised to feel a twinge of jealousy as she watched them interact. She didn't regret not marrying Michael, but she had to acknowledge to herself that at times she wished she could feel less like a third wheel and more like a part of the group.

Locke nudged her shoulder, shaking her out of her trance. "Do you want to go for a walk along the beach?" he asked. "I'm starting to feel a little left out with all the cuddling going on."

Michael should add mind reader to his list of qualities, Celia thought. She looked over at Rachel, who was busy talking on her cell phone. She waved at them and then turned back to her conversation.

"See what I mean?" Locke asked.

Celia stood up. She glanced back at the blanket before she let Locke lead her down the beach; Lauren had taken her spot and had pulled Tom down to sit next to her. Tom looked at Celia pointedly before allowing Lauren to regain his attention.

"You have a lot of books in your library," Celia said with some envy when they were out of sight. "I was serious when I told you I could move into that room. I would only come out to use the bathroom. You'd never notice I was there."

Locke laughed. "Tom says the same thing whenever he visits. What do you like so much about that room?"

Celia put her hands behind her back like she was giving a speech in middle school. "It's a long list," she warned. "Are you sure you want to hear it?"

"Of course."

"Well, to start with, it smells divine. All that wood lining the bookshelves, and the smell of the glue and the paper in the books -- it made my head swim. I love the smell of a library. If they bottled that I'd wear it as perfume."

"What else?" Locke prompted when she stopped talking.

"The piano. My mother had one that was almost identical to the one in your library. I would spend hours watching her play. If I could have her in that room with me, playing her piano, I would feel like I was back at home -- only a better version of it."

Locke turned them toward a pile of large rocks that jutted into the lake. He helped her climb up before continuing. "What happened to her piano?" he asked. "You speak of it like it's no longer there."

"It's not," Celia said. "We had to sell the house a few weeks ago, along with everything in it. I don't have anywhere to store a grand piano, so it had to go with the rest of the things."

"I'm sorry," Locke said. "My parents think I'm crazy to get attached to objects like pianos and organs and boats, but I do. They can really remind you of a person." He paused to sit down on the rock closest to the water and patted the space next to him. When she had settled herself, he leaned back on his elbows and looked up at her. He wasn't touching her, but she could feel the warmth of his arm next to hers. "What else do you like about my library?" he asked.

"The light," she responded without thinking about it. "The lamps are great, and I'm sure when it's dark they make for a very cozy read, but with those windows open on both sides of the room the light just streams in. It's almost as though you're surrounded by a warmth that seeps into your very bones."

The only sound for a long time after her speech was the crashing of the waves all around them. When Locke finally spoke, it was through a voice choked with tears. "Emily used to love the lighting in there," he said. "She was an artist, and she made me move all her easels in there on sunny days." He moved suddenly as if to stand up but got no farther than his knees. He buried his face in his hands and started to sob. "It's all my fault," he said brokenly. "I should have left her at the house."

Celia opened her mouth, intending to reassure him, but stopped when she realized she was just going to repeat the same platitudes everyone had spouted at her when her mother had died. What could she possibly tell Locke that would help? She couldn't think of anything. At a loss for anything better to do she put her arm around him and leaned her head on his back, figuring simple human contact was better than nothing. She didn't say anything, and after a few minutes of uncertainty she pulled him into her arms and let him cry on her shoulder.

His grief lasted until the sun had set and the only light was from the moon. When his tears finally subsided he curled into a ball next to her, laid his head on her lap, and fell into an exhausted sleep.

***

Tom found them there half an hour later. "What happened?" he whispered when he was close enough to see them through the darkness. "Is Locke all right?"

Celia shrugged. She had been running her fingers through his hair since he had slumped on her shoulder, figuring it had always made her feel better. "I think so," she said quietly so she wouldn't awaken him. "We were talking about Emily -- "

"Emily? He said her name? How did you get him to do that?" Tom asked, clearly shocked.

"I don't know. I was telling him how I loved the lighting in his library and it all just came out. He cried for a good long time. I'm glad you came; I was starting to think we'd be here for the rest of the night." She shivered. "I wasn't looking forward to spending the night out here by myself."

Tom sat next to her and stared at the moon. "I don't get it," he said at last.

Celia just looked at him.

"I've been trying to get him to talk for the past six months," he finally went on, frustration evident in his tone. "He wouldn't even mention Emily's name after the funeral. And here you come, a complete stranger, and he takes one look at you and he lets it all out."

Celia felt the dampness on her shirt seep into her skin. She shivered again; the wind was cold off the lake.

"You should get back to the house," he said. "It's starting to get chilly."

"I don't want to disturb him," she said. "I think he needs to get some sleep. I can wait until he wakes up."

Tom looked at her for a long time. "If you stay, so do I. Don't move. I'll be back in fifteen minutes." Then he disappeared into the darkness.

Half an hour later Celia could see a flashlight bobbing toward her. Tom climbed the rocks and placed something over her shoulders.

"I couldn't find your jacket," he said, "so I brought you mine. I hope you don't mind."

Tom's scent surrounded her, and she inhaled deeply. It made her head spin.

"Sorry I took so long." Tom's voice was edged with frustration. "Lauren said she needed me to help her get back to the house; I guess she didn't trust Michael to find his way in the dark. I'm sorry."

"That's fine," Celia said absentmindedly. She was having a hard time thinking clearly.

He sat behind her and looked over her head at Locke, still curled up with his head on her lap. "Has he moved at all?"

Shaking her head, Celia touched Locke's face gently. "Not a bit. I may be here for a while."

Tom sat still for a moment and then, breathing deeply, pulled her back so she was resting against his arm. "We may as well make ourselves comfortable," he said.

***

The sun shining on her face woke Celia the next morning. Something was tight around her waist, making it hard to move. She laid still for a minute, trying to think where she was. She could hear something that sounded like a heartbeat in her ear, and opening her eyes, she saw the blue of Tom's shirt under her cheek. She was too comfortable to care that she shouldn't have been outside sleeping with another girl's boyfriend.

"You're finally awake." Locke's voice came from behind her. "Good morning. Don't move too far; Tom's got you pinned down, and he looks like he doesn't want to let go of you."

Celia twisted her head backward, and Tom's arm tightened around her. "I should get up," she told Locke, reluctant. "Can you help?"

He stood up and slowly moved Tom's arm so she could crawl away. She almost fell over when she tried to stand up, and Locke grabbed her arms to keep her steady. "Be careful," he warned. "You're not too far from the water. I'm surprised we didn't all fall into the lake last night."

One look at the grey water swirling just feet away made Celia's knees weak. She hadn't realized when they had climbed the rocks in the dark the night before how close they were to the edge. She could swim, but she wasn't sure how strong the currents were. "Don't worry," Locke said laughingly. "I won't let you fall in."

There was something in his voice that hadn't been there the day before. He sounded younger and almost . . . happy. Celia gazed at him in wonder. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

Locke grinned. "I feel better than I have in weeks," he said. "Thanks for listening last night. I guess I should have paid more attention to Tom when he offered to talk things out." He kissed her forehead and rested his chin on her hair. "I've been thinking this morning while I waited for you two to wake up," he said. "I'm really glad I convinced Tom to bring you up here."

Celia could hear a strangled sound behind her. "Good morning, Tom," Locke said calmly.

Grunting, Tom stood up and started to climb down the rocks without bothering to stretch the kinks from his muscles that Celia knew were there. "I'm going to the house," he muttered without looking at them.

Locke held out his hand to help Celia step down behind him. "I don't know about you," he said, "but I'm famished. Let's get showered and go out for breakfast."

When they got back to the house Lauren had already attacked Tom. "You're back!" she said, pouting prettily. "I was starting to think you'd left me here all by myself."

"Where are the others?" Celia asked, looking around. Lauren's gaze shifted to Celia for a second, and her eyes narrowed when she saw her wearing Tom's jacket. Celia quickly removed it and handed it to Tom, who took it without looking at her. "Thanks," she said.

"Why does she have your jacket on?" Lauren asked sharply.

Celia glanced at Tom, who looked increasingly uncomfortable. "Tom was nice enough to let me borrow it last night," she said.

"Where are Cassie, Michael and Rachel?" Tom asked, evidently trying to divert Lauren's attention.

Lauren shrugged as though the question of her relatives' whereabouts had little bearing on her happiness. "Asleep, I guess. Tom, when are you going to take me on a carriage ride? I've been looking through some of the brochures in the bedroom and they're supposed to be very romantic."

Celia tried not to envision Tom and Lauren feeding each other strawberries in a horse-drawn carriage.

"Let me change," Tom said, grabbing Lauren's hand. "Then I'll take you on all the carriage rides you want."

On her way down the stairs Celia left a note for the others and then sat with the men in the kitchen, thinking about food while Lauren fussed with her appearance, changing her clothes four times. When she appeared downstairs for Tom's perusal the fifth time he stood up and steered her toward the door, not listening to any of her protests. Celia was glad; she'd skipped dinner last night, and she was hungry.

By the time they got to Main Street Lauren was complaining about the walk. "Why do we have to walk everywhere?" she asked petulantly.

"I could rent you a bike," Tom offered.

"A bike? Bicycles are for children."

"Not on the island," Locke cut in. He was having a hard time keeping a straight face. "I keep a bunch of them at the house. It's the fastest way to get around." Lauren shuddered.

Once they were seated and eating, Celia and Locke tuned the other two out and started talking about books. They had seen a book shop on Main Street, and Celia wanted to know if it was any good.

"It's more of a used-book store along with the typical tourist fare," Locke said, wiping his mouth. "We can go in after breakfast if you'd like."

"I would," she said. "I need to get cracking on my own book collection if I ever want to catch up to yours."

Locke laughed. "That would certainly be an undertaking. Unless you already have one started back in Chicago."

"She does," Tom interrupted. They both looked at him in surprise. "Have a collection, I mean. Boxes and boxes of them. At least, she used to." He flushed and turned his attention back to Lauren.

Locke eyed Celia speculatively. "Why do you have all those books?"

"I was a lit major in college."

"That explains a lot," Locke mused, looking out the window. "I think a trip to the bookstore would definitely be in order."

When they left the restaurant Lauren dragged Tom down the street to get tickets for the carriage ride. Tom looked back at Celia for a moment before allowing himself to be led away.

Locke and Celia spent two hours happily puttering around the store. When she finally pried herself out Locke carried two bags full of books for her. "I'm never going to fit these in my suitcase," she laughed.

"That's what post offices are for. Come on, I'll mail them home for you. I have to pick up the mail anyway."

"Don't you have a mailbox?"

Shaking his head, Locke laughed. "No one does. We all have to trudge through town to get it, unlike you sissified city people."

Celia gave him a reproachful look. "You have a mailbox part of the year," she pointed out.

Locke cocked his head to one side. "True, but it's fun to tease you. I can see why Tom likes you."

Celia held the door open for him. "Liked," she corrected.

"That's a matter of interpretation."

The sky was starting to cloud up when they left the post office. Celia was about to suggest they start back to the house when they heard a piercing shriek come from one of the carriages across the street. "Who is that?" she cried, looking around.

Locke started to laugh so hard he had to put his hands on his knees. Over his laughter Lauren's voice rang out. "That's disgusting! How can they let the horses do that, and in public? Tom, you better ask for a refund!"

Celia looked at the scene in front of her and started to laugh as well. Right behind the horse's rear end, in a brown steaming heap, was the evidence of Lauren's disgust.

"Isn't someone going to get rid of it? What do you mean, they just leave it there? Tom, this is so not romantic!"

Celia and Locke were laughing so hard they were clinging to each other in an effort to stay upright. The carriage passed them slowly and as it did Tom's eyes caught Celia's. He took one look at their hands grasping each other and turned away, his expression dark.

***

The house was quiet when they returned. They hadn't seen Tom or Lauren since the horse incident in the street, and Celia suspected Tom was trying to pacify Lauren with a romantic . . . something. She went in search of Rachel and found her in the sunroom on the phone. She waved when Celia came in the room.

"Hold on a minute, Ben. Celia, how was your morning? Did you do anything fun?"

Celia shrugged. "Locke and I went to a bookstore -- "

"Trust you to find a bookstore on an island that's only eight miles in circumference."

"And we witnessed Lauren's reaction to the horses pooping in the street."

Rachel looked confused for a moment before she started to chuckle. "I would've liked to have seen that."

Grinning, Celia said, "It was worth the trip. Where are Cassie and Michael?"

A knowing smile crept across Rachel's face. "I haven't seen them all morning. There have been some very interesting noises coming from upstairs, though. I'd stay down here if I were you."

Celia flushed. There were some things about your sister's life you just didn't want to know -- especially when you had dated her husband. "Thanks for the warning. And tell Ben I said hey."

She wandered through the main floor of the house, knowing she would end up in the library. When she got there the drapes were open, but the light coming through the windows was dim.

"I think we're in for a storm," said Locke from the piano bench.

"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to interrupt you."

Locke waved her in. "You're not. I was just getting ready to practice the songs for dance class tomorrow. We're still on, right?"

"Sure." Celia found her book from the day before and settled in a chair to read. Locke played through several pieces, all ones Celia didn't know, and then put his elbows on the piano and stared at her. She didn't notice for a few minutes; she was busy listening to the first drops of rain splash against the windowpanes. It was a very comforting sound.

"Celia, why did you break your engagement with Tom?"

The book fell to the floor with a thud and Celia bent down to retrieve it, glad to have an excuse to hide her face. When she straightened, her expression was composed.

"We were both too young to get married," she said with finality, hoping he would drop the subject.

"That's what you told Tom, but there has to be more to it than that."

Celia's eyes flew to his. "How do you know about that conversation?"

"Tom and I have been friends since college. It came up a few times."

She stood up and walked to the window. The rain was falling faster now, and she wondered if Tom and Lauren had been caught in the storm. "I told him the truth," she said after a long silence. "He just didn't actually listen to me."

"He seems to think your aunt had something to do with your decision."

"What exactly did Tom tell you?"

Locke's eyes were piercing as they looked at her. "He said your aunt convinced you that he wasn't good enough for the daughter of Henry Fuller, and that you agreed with her."

Her hands fisted at her side. "That's not true," she said through gritted teeth. "May talked to me, that much _is_ true, but she never said anything about him not being good enough. And if she did I certainly wouldn't have believed her."

Locke's voice softened. "Then what exactly did you tell him?"

Celia could remember the scene as though it had happened that morning rather than seven years before. "I told him that we were too young, that we should wait to get married until we were a few years older. Then he yelled at me for a while and sped off after I gave him back his ring." She rubbed her forehead with fingers that were cold from tracing the raindrops as they trailed down the window.

Locke was quiet for a moment. When he spoke he had the sadness of the ages in his voice. "He seemed to think that if you had waited you would have found someone else you liked better than him."

Celia whirled around. "How could he possibly think that?" she cried. "I told him I loved him. I didn't want to break up with him, just delay marriage for a while. Why didn't he _listen_ to me?"

Locke smiled bitterly. "Because he knew he had found the love of his life and was deathly afraid of what would happen to him if he let you slip through his fingers."

"He seems to have survived just fine."

"You don't think any of that stuff with Lauren is an act?"

"You tell me. Has he or has he not been on a romantic -- well, except for the horse -- outing with her all day?"

Locke pulled a face. "Come on, Cel. You know better than that."

Celia froze at his use of Tom's old nickname for her. "No one calls me that," she whispered.

"Tom does. He said your name in his sleep for the first three years I knew him, and that was a year after you broke the engagement. He never forgot you, Celia. He tried to date other people, but it never worked. He couldn't get you out of his head."

Celia felt her head spin. "Do you love him?" Locke asked, getting up and placing his hands on her shoulders.

She opened her mouth to deny it, but couldn't. "I don't know," she said miserably. "And I'm afraid to find out."

Locke pulled her close, resting her head on his chest. "It's a big risk, isn't it? Especially when you're not sure how he feels." He stopped and laughed. "He _is_ being rather obvious, but I guess that's why they say love is blind. Everyone can see it but poor Celia, who's as blind as a bat."

"I don't know what you mean."

Locke looked at her pityingly. "You are obtuse, aren't you? Then I would suggest you figure out how you feel. I know what it's like to live with regret. I'd hate to see my best friend do the same thing for the rest of his life if he doesn't have to."

***

The next morning Celia woke before anyone else and showered quickly. She needed to be alone for a while.

She walked down the road slowly, following the route they had taken the morning before. When she passed the internet cafe she thought about Jen and Scott. She wondered if Scott had unearthed anything in Henry's bank accounts that made any sense.

She walked in, intending to email Jen and ask, but the line to get a computer was long. She was turning around to go when she heard someone call her name.

"Celia! What are you doing here?"

She turned to see Tom waving at her from a table by the window and walked over to him. "I was going to email Jen," she said, "but the line's long, and I don't have a laptop. I can call her later."

"I'm about done; you can use mine." He minimized his window and pushed her into his chair.

"Thanks," she said. "I won't take long."

"Take as long as you want. I'll go get us something to eat."

Celia watched him as he left the building and then logged onto her email account. After sending Jen a message asking her to call if she had any news, she glanced out the window. Tom was nowhere in sight. She hesitated, knowing she shouldn't read his files, but the temptation was too great. She opened one tab and scanned the _Tribune_ article, releasing a breath of relief when all it was was a travel-guide sort of column extolling the virtues of Mackinac Island.

When she minimized it, though, she found herself staring at another column that was open behind it. Her gaze fell on the top line -- a note from Tom's editor that read, "I'm sure you know why I cannot print this. You are an idiot, Tom. Just tell the girl how you feel. And you had better not be playing one girl against another one! (But keep writing about her. You can't believe the amount of fan mail you have sitting on your desk.)" Celia glanced back at the street. Still no Tom. Feeling guilty, she read the one that hadn't been printed.

_Envy_

_by Tom Elliot_

_I have invented a time machine._

_No, really. I got on an airplane a couple of days ago, landed in Michigan, and here I am, living in a Victorian house at the turn of the century._

_You skeptics out there have never been to Mackinac Island. Here there is no traffic because there are no cars, people use their legs to walk instead of run on a treadmill, and life is a lot slower than the frantic pace we all know and love._

_All right, all right. I haven't really invented a time machine. But it sure feels like it._

_The movie __Somewhere in Time__ was shot on Mackinac Island, and when it was filmed in 1980 they had very little to change to get the place looking like it was 1912. The Grand Hotel, site of many of the film's most beautiful scenes, is essentially the same. Even the people I can see through the window of the internet cafe (there are a few changes, I'll concede) act like they could have stepped off the set. Guests at the hotel's restaurant are required to 'dress for dinner,' and every few minutes a horse-drawn carriage rolls past._

_There is one person who seems remarkably suited to the place, and I find myself wishing she hadn't embraced the Mackinac culture -- or its inhabitants -- quite so thoroughly. I can see her in my mind's eye, walking down Main Street with my old college roommate. She's dressed in a frock that accentuates her eyes, and they meander along the storefronts, taking their time and getting to know each another better. My (soon to be former) best friend, his hands filled with their purchases, can't seem to keep his gaze off her easy smile and upturned eyes._

_Now I know this is all in my imagination, but over the past few days I have been witness to an amazing transformation, an emotional rebirth, if you will. Much like Richard and Elise from __Somewhere in Time__, this girl, this simple, unassuming girl, has taken my friend and resurrected him from his past. _

_I can't help but compare her to the woman I took on a ridiculous carriage ride this morning. My companion, while pleasant on the eyes (men, you'll know what I mean), was whiny, clingy, and, worst of all, self-absorbed. The girl my friend escorted was none of those things, and I envied him the hours he spent in her company._

_Before I start to get all maudlin and weepy, I want to make it perfectly clear that I do not begrudge him his moment of happiness. He deserves it, and I wish him bliss with whichever woman he chooses._

_But I can't help but hope that somehow we can trade places._

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	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

"Celia? Celia, are you all right?"

Tom's voice seemed very far away. "Celia?"

Gasping, Celia wrenched her attention from the column that would never be printed in the newspaper and looked straight into Tom's eyes. He stared at her over the top of the computer, looking concerned.

"I'm fine," she said faintly. She looked back down at the screen and panicked. Crap, she thought. I'm not supposed to be reading this. She tried to close the window without appearing too obvious, but she knew Tom was watching her.

"Been reading anything interesting?" Tom's voice was nonchalant, but when she glanced at him he was still staring at her intently. There was a strange mixture of emotions on his face – as though he couldn't decide whether he was happy he had caught her reading his column or afraid of what she would say. His knuckles were white around the bag he was holding, forgotten, at his side.

"I -- " Celia didn't know what to say. If his column had even a shred of truth to it, Tom still had feelings for her. Wouldn't it be better just to find out? "I was just -- "

"There you are, Tom!"

Both of them jumped at the sound of Lauren's voice. Celia's sudden movement knocked several pens off the table and she bent over to retrieve them, glad for an excuse to hide her face. She was sure she looked guilty, although she didn't know why she felt that way.

Lauren appeared behind him and placed her arm around his waist. The hand holding the bag stiffened even further and a few seconds later it popped from the pressure, spilling bagels all over the floor. Sesame seed scattered across the floor, crunching under people's feet as they walked past.

Tom swore under his breath and bent down to pick up the mess. He glanced up at her from his position at her feet. "We'll have to finish this discussion later," he said quietly. His eyes were full of anticipation.

Tearing her gaze from him, Celia re-opened the document, hit the print button, and closed it again. She stood up and grabbed the column as it came out of the printer and then left the building as quickly as she could without running. When she got to the sidewalk she tripped in her haste. Before she could hit the ground, a pair of strong hands grabbed her arms. Locke laughed at her expression and put his arm around her to keep her steady. "Where are you going in such a rush?" he asked, giving the top of her head an affectionate kiss. "We don't have to be anywhere until three this afternoon."

Celia handed him the sheet of paper she had crumpled in her haste and leaned against him, trying to calm her breathing. Locke smoothed it out and scanned the column. He stuffed it in his pocket when Tom and Lauren came outside.

"I was wondering where everyone had gone," Locke said easily. "The house was empty when I got up. I should have known you could only live without the internet for so long."

Tom's gaze was fixed on Celia. "You can find all sorts of information online," he said. "It can be very . . . enlightening."

Celia tried to keep her face bland.

"We'll talk about it on the way back to the house," Locke whispered in her ear.

"I'm so hungry," Lauren complained suddenly from her perch on Tom's arm. "Can't we go somewhere?"

"That's an excellent idea," Locke agreed. "Let go back to the house. I'll make everyone an omelet." He motioned for Lauren and Tom to precede him. When they were out of earshot he pulled the column out of his pocket and gave it back to Celia.

"What do you make of it?" he asked.

"He caught me reading it. Well, kind of. I think he suspects that I was, but . . . "

Locke stopped and turned her so they could look at each other. "You're not making any sense. Do you mean to tell me that Tom doesn't know you've been reading his column all along?"

Celia shrugged. "He never asked. What am I going to do, Locke? He can't love me anymore, not after the way I treated him. And he has a girlfriend."

"He doesn't have a girlfriend," Locke argued. "Have you been paying attention to them? He rolls his eyes every time Lauren opens her mouth."

"That's not the point. Even if he doesn't want her, Lauren assumes they're a couple. Tom just sits back and lets her think that."

"That's true," Locke conceded, "but I happen to know he's doing that because he's jealous and doesn't want you to know it."

Celia snorted and started to walk down the street again. "That's ridiculous."

Locke looked at her for a moment and sighed. "Think whatever you want," he said, "but I know I'm right."

All through breakfast Celia watched Lauren and Tom interact. They were sitting next to each other, and Lauren seemed to go out of her way to touch him -- a bump on the arm, a brush of the hand as she reached for the orange juice. Tom ignored everything and focused all his attention on his plate. He glanced up once and caught Celia's eye. They stared at each other for a moment, and then he flashed her a grin. He was still smiling when he looked back down at his breakfast.

Celia didn't know what to think. Maybe Locke was right. She thought back to their first interactions at Cassie's apartment and her eyes widened in shock. Maybe all those stupid assumptions he had been making over the past few weeks were driven by jealousy, not stupidity. She glanced up at him again. Tom was listening to Lauren, his head cocked to one side. He was leaning toward her a little too closely, a half-smile on his face. Then again, maybe not.

"So what are the plans for this morning?" Locke asked, pushing his plate away and leaning back in his chair. "Does anyone want a tour of the island?"

"Sounds good to me," Cassie said from the doorway. "I'm ready to get out of the house."

Locke laughed. "Let's take the bikes. It won't take so long that way."

Cassie yawned. "Do you have somewhere you need to be later on?"

"Yeah. Celia and I are going dancing this afternoon."

"Dancing?" Tom interrupted, his voice dangerous. Locke gave Celia a significant look.

"Dancing?" Lauren squealed. "We're going dancing? How romantic!" She put her arm through Tom's and beamed at him.

"I invited Celia to come to dance class back on the mainland," Locke explained. "She was kind enough to agree. You're all welcome to come along."

Tom glanced at Lauren and sighed almost inaudibly. Then, his gaze resting on Celia, he said, "We'd love to come."

"Great," Locke said easily. "We should probably get going if we want to be back in time to change. Who's up for an eight mile bike ride?"

Lauren looked distinctly displeased until Locke mentioned casually, "We still have the tandems in the shed. It might be kind of fun to pedal together."

Her face brightening, Lauren agreed. "Let's, Tom. I'll let you steer!"

"Great," he muttered.

Locke tilted his head close to Celia's and whispered, with what appeared to be mischievous glee, "This should be fun to watch."

***

Locke produced two tandem and two single bicycles. He grinned ruefully at Celia as he handed her one of the singles. "I'm afraid that's all I have," he said. "We could see if Tom and Lauren would swap with us."

"That's all right," Celia answered, holding the other bike for him as he wheeled a tandem to Cassie and Michael. She watched as they mounted the bike, counted to three, and took off down the road, Cassie waving as they rounded the corner.

"Have they done this before?" Locke asked, staring after them. "It usually takes a few tries before people get the hang of tandem riding."

Celia shook her head, bemused. "Not that I know of," she answered. "But Cassie has all sorts of hidden talents. Maybe this is one of them."

Shrugging, Locke handed the second tandem to Tom. "Enjoy," he said, and stood back to watch with Celia.

Tom and Lauren managed to get the bike going without too much trouble. They started to turn down the lane when Lauren, who was in back as promised, gave a sudden wrench at the steering wheel. Her sudden movement surprised Tom and they both lost their balance, falling onto the grass.

Locke and Celia tried to muffle their laughter as they disentangled themselves from the bike. "What were you doing?" Tom said in an incredulous voice. "Your handlebars don't actually turn. They're just there so you have something to hold on to."

"I'm sorry, Tom," Lauren said in a meek voice. She looked up at him through her eyelashes. "I'll try to do better next time."

Tom was understanding when she did the same thing again, but by the third spill from the bike Celia could tell that his patience had reached its limit. "That's it," he said. "Maybe you should trade with Celia. That way you can steer all you want and no one will get hurt."

Locke gave Celia a significant look. "Don't start," she warned in a low voice.

Lauren looked at Celia and back at the tandem bike. "Maybe it would work better if Lauren was in front," Locke offered. Tom glared at him. "It's just an idea," Locke said defensively.

"Let's try it, Tom," Lauren said, sounding excited. "I'm sure you'd much rather ride with me than with Celia." She gave Celia a pitying look.

"Let's try it," Tom sighed. A minute later they were wobbling down the street, Lauren crying out in triumph as she narrowly missed a tree. Tom winced and looked back at Celia and Locke, who were both trying to appear as though nothing was humorous.

"Shall we?" Locke said.

Celia grinned and set off after the tandem riders. "That was almost as good as the horse incident yesterday," she said as they rode along.

Locke started to laugh. "That's why you brought her, isn't it? For comic relief."

Celia couldn't help laughing with him. "I wish," she said.

"You're jealous." Locke sounded like this was old news.

"No, I'm not."

Locke raised his eyebrows and shook his head. "You two are hopeless," he said. "You're jealous of Lauren, Tom's jealous of me, and you're both wishing for something you already have. Just tell the boy you like him and get on with it."

"That's easy for you to say," Celia retorted. "Maybe you should go after Lauren and spare us both the trouble."

"Fat chance of that happening," Locke said. "When I choose to fall in love again, it will be with a woman who has more sense than Lauren Tanner."

***

Halfway around the island, Locke started wondering what had happened to their pair of mismatched lovebirds. "We should have caught up with them by now," he said in a worried voice, checking his cell phone for messages. "I hope something hasn't happened to them."

"I'm sure they're fine," Celia said lightly, trying to banish the image of Lauren and Tom embracing on the beach from her mind. "Why don't you just call Tom if you're still concerned?"

"That's not a bad idea." He slowed to a stop and flipped open his phone, and then paused before dialing. "Unless you think I could be interrupting something."

Celia tried not to look bothered. "Not at all," she said.

Locke laughed and ruffled her hair. "I'm just giving you a hard time," he said. A few seconds later he was on the phone with Tom. "Where are you, man? Have you fallen into the lake?"

He listened for a moment and then started to laugh. "You're kidding. Do you want some help? No problem. I'll be there in a few minutes." He stuffed the phone in his pocket and shook his head in disbelief. "Evidently Lauren steered them down a path to the beach, against Tom's better judgment. She wasn't paying attention to where they were going and guided them right into the lake."

Celia tried not to smile. "I'm sure Tom was thrilled about that."

"Oh, he sounded thrilled, that's for sure. Thrilled that I was going to take Lauren back to the house and get her out of his hair. Do you want to go back to the house?" He turned the bike around and looked at her expectantly.

Celia hesitated. She really didn't want to deal with a shrieking Lauren if she didn't have to. "No, I think I'll sit here for a while and then finish the circuit. I'll see you in a while."

Locke grimaced. "You'll be missing all the fun." He started back the way they had come. "Think of me while you're enjoying the quiet," he called as he pedaled away.

Celia didn't mind being left alone. She loved the time she was spending with Cassie and Michael, and appreciated all they were doing for her, but once in a while it was nice to be by herself for a change. She let her mind focus on the view in front of her, watching the waves break on the shore and listening to the sounds of the birds and the wind soughing through the trees. It was so calm and peaceful. She felt like she was the only person on the island.

After a long time she roused herself and got back on the bike. If she was late Locke would tease her unmercifully, she thought as she started back down the road. She'd better hurry. She had been pedaling for only a few minutes when the quiet was suddenly broken by a loud popping sound, and without warning Celia found herself on the pavement with the bike on top of her, her hands and knees stinging. She sat there for a minute, trying to figure out what had happened. Had she hit something? Had the wheel fallen off? She winced when she tried to move.

"Are you all right, miss?"

Celia looked up to see the most beautiful man she had ever seen. He was tall, taller even than Tom, and his face showed concern as he bent over to help her to her feet. "Miss?"

"I'm fine," Celia said faintly. She was sure she looked ridiculous and tried to stop staring. Her eyes refused to obey. The man's eyes crinkled with laugh lines as he pulled her to her feet and inspected her bike. "Looks like you've got a flat tire," he said matter-of-factly, and started rummaging through a bag strapped to the back of his own bike. "You're lucky I came along when I did," he said, flashing a brilliant smile at her. "I happen to be an expert at tire repair."

"Thank you," Celia managed. Was she in some sort of crazy dream? Charming men never came to her rescue. Usually she was the one doing the rescuing. It was strange to be on the other end.

The man looked at her for a long moment, his eyes trailing down her body slowly. "I'm sorry," he said as he dusted his hands on his shorts. "I haven't introduced myself. My name is Alex."

He held out his hand to shake hers. She could feel herself blushing at his look of admiration. "I'm Celia Fuller."

Alex's eyebrows raised in astonishment. "You wouldn't happen to be Cecelia Anne Fuller from Chicago, would you?"

How did this gorgeous man know her full name? She was sure she'd remember if they had ever met before. "Yes, I am," she said. "Do we know each other?"

Alex threw his head back and laughed. "You know of me," he said, gripping her hand tighter. She tried not to wince at the burn in her palms. "I'm Alex Stanfield. May McCrady is my mother's best friend."

_This_ was Alex Stanfield? The guy she'd been avoiding like the plague for at least ten years? What had she been _thinking_? "I've heard a lot about you," she said, smiling up at him. "I have to confess I've been trying to dodge this meeting since I was in middle school."

Alex grinned back at her. "I have, too," he admitted, "although I can't see why I would do that to myself. You look much more – " his eyes swept down her body again – "palatable than I was expecting."

Celia blushed and looked down. "Thanks for the rescue," she said.

"I'm not finished yet. Let me fix that tire for you so you can get back to wherever you're staying. They should refund your money, you know. You're lucky you weren't hurt."

Celia hoped he hadn't noticed her skinned hands and knees. He was just starting to fix the tire when her phone buzzed in her pocket. Jen's number was flashing on the screen. "I'm sorry," she said, "but I need to get this. Do you mind?"

"Not at all," Alex said easily. "Take your time. This may take a few minutes, anyway."

Giving him a grateful smile Celia flipped open her phone. "Hey, Jen," she said as she walked away. "You'll never guess who I just ran into."

"Hey, Celia." To her surprise Scott's voice sounded in her ear.

"Scott! What's up? Is Jen all right?"

"Don't get your knickers all bunched up," Scott said, laughter in his voice. "I'm borrowing her phone because it's the only one that has your number on it. I have news for you."

Celia sat down on a rock by the side of the road, keeping Alex in her view. She was having a hard time focusing on Scott's words. This was not the same sort of man May had set her up with, she thought. If she had agreed to go out with him when they were younger she could have saved herself years of ridiculous blind dates. "What news?" she asked absently, watching Alex as he bent over the bike.

"About your father. What kind of news did you think I'd have?"

Celia jerked to attention. "What have you discovered?"

"I don't have a lot of time to talk right now. Jen's lost her charger again, and the phone's almost out of battery. But you were right; someone has been tampering with his accounts."

"Do you know who it is?"

"Not yet. I'm going to have to dig a lot deeper to get that figured out. I don't suppose you'd hire a private investigator?"

Celia put her head in her hands. A detective would cost her entire first years' salary and then some. "I don't have the money to do that," she said. A hand fell on her shoulder and she looked up to see Alex standing over her, his face a mask of concern.

"Is there a problem?" he whispered.

She shook her head and tried to smile. "I didn't think so," Scott said. He sighed heavily. "I guess it's all up to me then. I may have to involve the police at some point, though. That could make things uncomfortable for Henry. But you never know; I could come up with nothing. So there's no point in worrying about it."

Celia took a deep breath. "No, don't get the police involved unless you absolutely have no other choice. Henry is difficult enough without added stress. He'd go ballistic if a police officer showed up at his door."

"You got it. Now, I hope you're enjoying your vacation. Don't worry your pretty little head about all this mess. I've got you covered. Ouch!" Scott suddenly yelped. "What did you do that for, you nasty woman?"

"What are you talking about?" Celia asked, baffled.

"Oh, sorry. I was talking to Jen. She pinched me when I said that part about your pretty little head." Celia could hear pages turning in the background. "Hey, I almost forgot. Does the name – "

The line went dead, leaving Celia repeating, "Scott? Scott?" She snapped the phone shut with a sigh when there was no answer. There was no use calling back; she'd have to hope he'd leave her an email.

She stood to put the phone back in her pocket and observed Alex, who seemed deep in thought. "I couldn't help overhearing part of your conversation," he said slowly, as if he were trying to figure something out. "Is everything all right at home? Do you need to call someone back?"

"Even if I did I can't," she said. "His wife's cell phone is dead and the charger has gone missing. Thanks for offering to help, though. I appreciate it."

"Well, we are old acquaintances of sorts. If May found out that I hadn't helped you she'd have my hide. Are you sure there's nothing I can do? I can try to track down this . . . who were you talking to again?"

"Scott Tennant. He's my best friend's husband; he's been looking into something at home for me. Don't worry; I'll catch up to him at home. It's nothing that can't wait a few more days." She lapsed into silence. She sensed that he wanted to hear more details, but her father's financial woes were hardly something you discussed with a man you met just minutes before, no matter how charming. Even if your aunt had tried to set you up on a blind date with him. After a few seconds Alex lifted her chin with his finger. "Thanks for saving my bike," she said faintly without really thinking about what she was saying.

From this close Celia could see the flecks of green in his blue eyes. His gaze focused on her lips and he smiled. "I often aid damsels in distress," he said softly. "It was my pleasure."

"Celia is no damsel in distress." Tom's voice came from behind them. Alex's hand fell from her face when she turned in surprise. Tom was leaning against Locke's bike. He looked wet, sandy, and extremely irritated -- like he had been in a fight with a sea serpent and had been soundly beaten.

"What happened to you?" she exclaimed. "And what are you doing here? I thought you'd be back at the house."

"Lauren happened. Never, _ever_ get on a bicycle with her. Lauren shouldn't be allowed to steer anything with wheels. She wondered how she had passed her driving test." Noticing he had ignored her second question, Celia looked at him closely. He looked furious.

"Who's your friend?" Tom jerked his head in Alex's direction.

Celia stepped closer to Tom without thinking about it. "Tom Elliot, this is Alex Stanfield. Alex, Tom. Tom was a friend of mine back in high school," she explained to Alex. "We're here with my sister and some of her husband's family."

Tom stiffened when she said Alex's name, and he shook Alex's offered hand as quickly as possible. Alex winced at the strength of Tom's grip. "Stanfield," Tom said shortly before turning his attention to Celia.

"Locke took Lauren back to the house on the tandem. She was frantic enough about the state of her hair not to notice that she wasn't in charge of steering anymore. We should probably get going so we're not late for our dance lesson."

Celia raised her eyebrows at his word choice but let it pass when she saw his expression. He had evidently had a very trying morning.

"That must be my cue to leave," Alex said. He took her hand in his and leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek. "I'll call you when we both return to Chicago," he promised. "I'm sure May won't object to giving me your number again." His eyes flicked to Tom before resting on her face.

"That would be nice." She avoided Tom's gaze. "It was great to finally meet you."

Alex grinned. "The pleasure was all mine." Then he got back on his bike and rode away, pulling out his cell phone as he went.

Tom stared at him for a long moment before he spoke. "So that's the famous Alex Stanfield," he finally muttered. "He's not at all what I imagined."

Celia thought about Alex's good looks and charm and couldn't help but agree. "Me neither," she sighed. "I was picturing something more along the lines of Elmer Fudd. Definitely not _that._" Her eyes followed Alex down the road until he disappeared around a corner.

Tom started to move past her when he stopped and grabbed her hand. "What happened to you?" he demanded, looking at her skinned hands and knees. "I can't leave you alone for five minutes before you're hurt and some strange guy is fawning all over you." He pushed her down on the rock and knelt down to inspect her bloody knees. He made a sound of disgust and tried to wipe it clean with his dirty shirt. "What happened?" he repeated.

Celia was starting to get irritated by his attitude. "I had a flat tire and Alex rode by just after I fell over. I can take care of myself, you know," she snapped, seeing the incredulous look on his face. "Alex fixed my tire for me, we chatted for a few minutes, and that was all. You don't need to get all bothered."

"Very coincidental, him coming along just when you needed help. And he was going to kiss you. I could tell by the way he was looking at you."

Celia wasn't so sure she would have minded it if Alex had kissed her but chose to keep that information to herself. "We'd better be going," she said, pushing him away. "Like you said before, we don't want to be late for the dance lesson." She got on her bike and rode back the way she had come, not looking to see if Tom was following her.

***

Cassie stuck her head out of her bedroom door as Celia trudged up the stairs. "You're finally back! Come in here and tell me what you think of this dress." She disappeared before Celia had a chance to say anything.

Clothes were strewn everywhere in Cassie's room. Picking up a shirt from the floor so she'd have somewhere to stand, Celia looked at Cassie. She was dressed in a shirt and skirt that didn't match, even to her. "What's happened to Rachel?" she asked. "I haven't seen her all day."

"Oh, she's on the phone with Ben."

"Still? Why did she bother coming on vacation if she's spending it all talking on the phone?"

Cassie made a dismissive sound. "She was probably worried she'd be bored at home with Lauren here and Ben on the road. Leave her alone. She's newly engaged, and you have to make allowances for that sort of thing."

"I guess you're right. Didn't you need help with a dress," she said.

"This one, on the bed." Cassie plucked a red dress from its spot on a pillow and held it up to herself. "What do you think?"

Celia shrugged. "It looks great," she said. "But isn't all of this a little fancy for a dance lesson? Most people will be in jeans and sneakers."

Cassie shook a finger in Celia's direction. "That's where you're wrong. Locke told us to get dressed up when he and Lauren got back from their bike ride." Cassie paused to hold the dress up to Celia. "Hey, weren't Lauren and Tom on the tandem when we left? What happened?"

Celia grinned in spite of herself. "Lauren steered them into the lake somehow, and Locke went back to rescue them."

Cassie laughed. "Trust Lauren to ruin a perfectly 'romantic' setting. I bet Tom was thrilled."

Celia thought about the look on Tom's face when he saw her with Alex. "Not so much," she said.

Cassie looked at her closely. "I think there's more to the story than that," she said. She cleared off a space on the bed and sat down. "What happened?"

Shaking her head, Celia sat next to her. She wasn't in the mood to talk about Tom. "You'll never guess who I met," she said, trying to deflect Cassie. "Alex Stanfield."

"Isn't he the guy May's been trying to set you up with?"

"One and the same. And I should have listened to May all those years ago. The man is gorgeous."

Cassie looked at her shrewdly. "Let me guess. Tom came across you when you were flirting with Alex and he got mad."

Celia looked at her in surprise. "How did you guess that? And I wasn't flirting, exactly," she added hastily.

Waving her hand in the air, Cassie made a face. "Come on, Celia," she said, standing back up. She started to take off her mismatched shirt. "You and Tom have some sort of bad karma. If he had come across you two minutes earlier, would he have seen anything that would have irritated him?"

"Probably not," Celia admitted grudgingly.

"You should just marry the poor guy and put him out of his misery," Cassie said in a matter-of-fact voice. "Then you wouldn't flirt, and he would sleep better at night instead of worrying about who you're with." She laughed at Celia's shocked expression. "Never mind," she went on, throwing the red dress in Celia's direction. "You're not ready to hear that. Go get cleaned up and put that dress on. I think it'll look fantastic on you." She propelled Celia into the hall and shut the door behind her.

Celia stared at the door for a minute, thinking about what Cassie had said. Everyone seemed to think she and Tom were meant for each other. Well, we might have been, she told herself fiercely, but not anymore. Especially not after his ridiculous outburst on the road. She turned on her heel and walked to her room, clutching the dress to her chest.

***

Celia had half-hoped the dress would look terrible on her, but as she inspected herself in the mirror she had to admit, grudgingly, that Cassie knew what she was doing when it came to clothes. It was really too bad that gift didn't extend to other things, like the kitchen, she thought ruefully. It would make Michael's life a little easier. She smoothed the dress over her hips and put on the shoes that had appeared on her bed while she was in the shower. How did Cassie do it? She had only brought one suitcase, after all. Maybe Michael's bag was filled with Cassie's clothes. Poor guy.

Faint sounds of music drifted up the stairs as she left her room. Rachel was alone in the foyer, talking quietly into the phone tucked under her ear. She waved at Celia before going back to her conversation. Knowing her sister and Lauren, it was likely to be a while before they were ready to leave, so she followed the music down the hall and into the library. She opened the door and had opened her mouth to greet Locke when she stopped in confusion.

Tom was sitting at the piano, playing a quiet song that she had never heard before. She turned to leave but in her haste she knocked her elbow on the door. The music halted and she froze when Tom's voice sounded behind her.

"Please don't leave."

She turned slowly to him, keeping one hand on the doorknob. "I didn't mean to interrupt," she said quietly.

He looked at her steadily. "Can we talk for a minute before it's time to go?"

Celia breathed in the smells of the library, letting the scent of books and sunshine wash over her. "Sure," she said in resignation, and entered the room. Tom patted the space on the bench beside him and she sat next to him, aware of how close his body was to hers.

"You look very nice," he said after a long pause.

Celia risked a glance up at him and saw a strange expression flit across his face. It was not one she could place. "Thanks," she said. "Cassie picked it out."

A ghost of a smile on his lips, Tom said, "She certainly has a talent for dressing you. You can tell her I said that."

"I will." They lapsed back into silence.

Celia was beginning to wonder if he had anything to say – after all, this had been his idea – when he spoke. "I'm sorry I overreacted this morning," he said, running a hand through his carefully combed hair. "I seem to have a habit of walking in on you at inopportune times."

"Cassie says it's bad karma," Celia said. Her fingers itched to pat his hair back in place.

"She does, does she?" Tom looked bemused. "I guess it does sort of feel that way. Anyway, I'm sorry. I hope your knees are better."

Celia smiled down at the piano keys. "I'll be fine."

Tom shifted uneasily on his side of the bench and cleared his throat. "I had a question for you, actually," he said, taking a deep breath. He ran his hand through his hair again, and then looked her in the eye. "Have you been reading my columns?"

The question hung in the air. Celia stared back at him, not knowing what to say. Just tell him, her inner voice scolded. What's the worst that can happen?

"Tom!"

His head jerked up so quickly she could hear his bones creak. "Lauren," he said in a resigned voice. "What do you want?"

Lauren looked from Tom to Celia and back again. "Am I interrupting something?" she said. Her tone was casual, but there was a glint in her eye.

"No, that's all right," Celia said hurriedly as she stood up. "I was just . . . " She floundered for a word that wouldn't sound bad.

"Talking," Tom said smoothly. "We were just waiting for everyone to get ready to leave."

"We're ready now," Lauren said sweetly. Tom stood to follow Celia out of the room and caught hold of her hand when Lauren flounced away. "Don't think you're off the hook," he warned. "I still want an answer to my question." He smiled at her briefly. "I've learned to be very persistent."

***

When they got to the Beryl's house there was just enough time to greet Locke's parents and thank them for letting so many people intrude on their lesson. "Our pleasure," Mr. Beryl said. "We're always glad to have more students. Go into the dance studio; we're about ready to start."

The Beryls stood them in a ling along the mirrors. Celia knew most of the basic moves but it was a good refresher, and she concentrated on staying away from Tom and his questions. What should she tell him? She had no doubt that the question would come up again; Tom seemed very intent on getting her answer. She glanced up and caught his eye in the mirror. He smiled faintly before turning his attention back to the class. He was a good ballroom dancer, Celia noted absently. Maybe he had taken lessons here before.

After a while the Beryls told everyone to find a partner. Tom looked at Celia before allowing Lauren to lead him to the center of the room, leaving her with an older, slightly bald man who appeared delighted to dance with her. He chattered throughout the dance, not noticing when he stepped on her toes. He only stopped talking when Locke rescued her at the end of the song after putting a CD in the player.

She smiled at him gratefully. "Thanks," she said. "He was a pleasant guy, but I don't think my feet will be the same tomorrow."

Locke grimaced in sympathy. "That's a risk you run in these classes," he said. "It's worse when you know what you're doing and your partner doesn't. When did you learn the waltz?"

Celia laughed softly. "My mother made me take lessons in junior high," she said. "She wasn't a very proper person but she felt it was important for us girls to know a few of the dances. Cassie was a pretty good dancer," she added, looking at her sister try to show Michael how to execute a turn without causing bodily harm. "How she ended up with Mick, who has two left feet, is beyond me."

Locke turned his head to watch the other dancers as they spun around. "Rachel looks like she's having fun," he commented, cocking his head to where Rachel and a teenage boy were dancing. The young man was quite obviously thrilled to have his arms around an older, attractive woman. "But I don't think Lauren knows how to waltz," he added, trying not to laugh. "Tom's a good sport, and he's not a bad waltzer, but Lauren is giving him a run for his money. Maybe I should rescue him." He twirled her around one more time before taking his hand off her waist and sliding through the throng of enthusiastic dancers. A moment later Tom was at her side.

"May I have this dance?" he asked, holding out his hand.

Without saying a word Celia placed her hand in his and he pulled her close. Tom gazed down at her as they started the familiar steps. "I didn't know you danced," she said in a bemused tone.

"I don't," he said and then laughed. "You mean this? I can get by, but I'm no Fred Astaire. Locke brought me here one summer and convinced me to help lead the classes."

"You're a very good dancer," she said.

"So are you." Tom stopped them by the large picture windows at the end of the room. They were far enough away from everyone that they could speak in relative privacy. "I never got an answer to my question," he said softly.

Celia just looked up at him.

He cleared his throat and tightened his grip around her. "Have you been reading my columns?"

You knew this was coming, Celia told herself. Just get it over with and tell him. She opened her mouth. "I – "

"Tom! Look! I haven't stepped on Locke's toes for at least three minutes!"

Tom swore under his breath but didn't let Celia go. "That's great, Lauren," he said absently.

"That's the end of our lesson for today," Mr. Beryl called from the center of the room. "Thank you all very much for coming. Next week we'll focus on the foxtrot."

Tom's gaze didn't waver from Celia's face, even when Lauren pulled him away to show him her new dance moves. Locke sauntered over to Celia and gazed out the window with her.

"You and Tom seemed to be having a very intense conversation," he said. "Is everything all right?"

Celia put her hands behind her back to keep herself from fiddling with the hem of her dress. "Yes, everything's fine."

Locke looked at her, curious. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Celia shook her head to clear it. "He wants to know if I've been reading his columns."

Locke whistled under his breath. "He's not messing around, is he? What did you tell him?"

"Nothing," she said. "He's asked twice now, and both times Lauren has saved me from saying anything."

"You're going to tell him the truth, aren't you?"

Celia sighed. "Yes, I am. I think I just need to get it over with."

Locke nodded in agreement. "You're right," he said. "You've both dragged this on way too long. We'd better get going," he said in a louder voice. "If we wait much longer we'll miss the light." He gave Celia a significant look and led her out of the studio, Lauren and Tom trailing behind them.

The wind was starting to pick up when they got back to the boat. "I'll see you in a few days," Locke told his parents. Mrs. Beryl pulled Celia aside before she left. "Thanks for talking to Locke," she whispered in Celia's ear. "I think the worst is finally behind him. Tom tells me all the credit belongs to you."

Celia glanced over at Tom, who was studiously avoiding her gaze. He seemed to be waiting for her. "I don't think I've done all that much," she said, "but you're welcome anyway." Mrs. Beryl caught her in a quick embrace before handing her to Tom. "I'll see you later," she said and wiped her eye on her sleeve. Celia smiled at her and let Tom help her aboard.

Everyone was engrossed in their own activities; Rachel was on the phone, Michael and Cassie were talking quietly in a corner, paying no attention to anyone else, and Locke was focused on the waves steadily building around them. Celia headed for her spot next to Locke but was stopped when Tom grabbed her arm. "Sit back here with me," he said. "We still need to finish our discussion." Celia sighed and turned to follow him, but not before she caught the look on Locke's face. It said, quite clearly, 'don't mess this up.'

She sat in the back of the boat, Tom at her side. They were both silent until the mainland had disappeared from view. Then Tom started to talk.

"You know, I never really planned on being a newspaper columnist. When I graduated from Northwestern I was going to be a news writer. Then I got hired by the paper in Joliet and a week later their columnist quit out of the blue."

"What happened then?" Celia asked when he stopped talking.

"He asked all of the newest employees to submit a personal essay – no more than three hundred words, to see if we could work under a word limit – and the next day I was reassigned." Tom laughed softly to himself. "I haven't actually ever done any investigative reporting," he confided.

"Do you regret it?"

Tom stopped to think. "No, I don't think so. I'm not so sure I have what it takes to make it as a real-life reporter. The softer stuffsuits me just fine."

Celia wondered if she was the "softer stuff" he was referring to, and contemplated being angry. She wasn't soft. Was she?

"Celia, I have to know." Tom had turned very serious. He took her hand in his and breathed in deeply. "Have you been reading my columns?"

This is it, Celia thought. No one can interrupt us. She looked him steadily in the eye. "Yes, I have. Every one since you started at the _Tribune_."

A look of tentative hope crossed Tom's face and he grabbed her other hand, pulling her close to him. "Then you know. You know how – "

"Tom! Look! I'm that guy from that movie!"

"That's nice, Lauren," Tom said with a touch of irritation.

"No, look! I'm that guy in _Titanic_!" Lauren's voice was desperate and shrill.

Tom slowly swiveled his head around and then froze, his mouth hanging open in shock. Then he let go of Celia and sprang to his feet. "Lauren! Get down from there!"

"I'm queen of the world!" Lauren crowed. She was standing on the side of the boat, her arms held wide and her hair flying in the wind. "Come on, Tom," she said. "Come and hold my hand now!" She turned slightly to grab Tom's offered hand.

He was almost to her when she lost her balance. To Celia, watching horrified from the back, it all seemed to happen in slow motion – Tom's hand held out, Lauren's look of panic when she realized something bad was going to happen, and then the sickening thud Lauren's head made on the side of the boat before she fell into the water.

For a split second everyone stared at the empty spot where she had been. Then, with the exception of Locke, who hadn't noticed anything, they all started yelling at once.

Celia jumped to her feet. "Tom, take off your shoes."

He looked at her blankly. "What?"

"Take off your shoes! Are you still a good swimmer?"

Comprehension dawned on his face and he jumped over the side of the boat almost before she finished speaking, his shoes sitting abandoned next to her feet. "Rachel! Call 911. Tell them to meet us at the dock." Rachel, white with panic, pulled her phone from her bag and started dialing.

Leaning over Locke's shoulder, she placed her hands on his shoulders before speaking quietly in his ear. "Lauren's in the water. Can you turn the boat around?"

Locke's head jerked up and she could see the fear in his eyes. "It's not as bad as you think," she added hurriedly, tightening her grip on him. "Tom's already jumped in; she might be unconscious. We should get her to the hospital."

Locke nodded once and swallowed hard before he steered the boat around to where Tom held Lauren in the water. Her head lolled to one side and Celia grasped the side of the boat, fearing the worst. Tom caught her eye and mouthed, "She's breathing." Celia sank onto a seat before her knees could sag in relief. Everything would be all right, she told herself. It had to be.

***

Waiting room chairs should be more comfortable, Celia thought hours later from the Mackinac Straits Hospital in St. Ignace. Surely I can't be the only person to want to sleep in one. She glanced at Locke sitting ramrod straight next to her. He hadn't said much since the accident, and she knew he was thinking about Emily.

"It's not the same," she said to him in a low voice. "Lauren will be fine. The doctors didn't seem too worried; surely if they were they would have sent Michael or Rachel out here by now."

Locke nodded. "How's Tom doing?" he asked.

Celia glanced over and sighed. "He still hasn't changed out of his wet things," she said.

"He won't leave the room in case he misses something. Try again for me, will you? He might be convinced if you ask him."

Celia got to her feet and walked over to where Tom was sitting in the corner. "Tom," she said, touching his face to get his attention. His cheek was rough; his five o'clock shadow was not a shadow any more. "You need to get out of your wet clothes or you'll make yourself sick."

Tom raised his eyes slowly to look at her. "It's all right," he said listlessly. "Why don't you let Locke take you back to his parents' house? There's no use in everyone being miserable."

"Don't be ridiculous," she said. "I'm not leaving you here alone."

He tried to smile at her. "Thanks," he said.

She pushed the clothes the Beryls had brought with them into his arms. "Please, go. I'll come and find you if we hear anything."

Tom stood up. "I'll be back in a minute," he promised before walking slowly out of the room.

Celia stared after him. It seemed as though he had aged thirty years in the past few hours. "He'll be all right," Locke said from his chair across the room. "He just feels terribly, horribly guilty."

"Guilty? What for? It wasn't his fault she stood up on the side of a moving boat."

"No, it's not," Locke agreed. "But he thinks if he had been paying more attention to her she wouldn't have been desperate enough to do something crazy."

Celia tried to formulate an argument to that but couldn't. Lauren had seemed a little possessive lately. "If that's what he's thinking then the fault is just as much mine as it is his," she said after a long pause.

"Don't be stupid." Locke snorted. "It was her own fault, plain and simple. Tom just needs to realize that, and there's nothing you can do to help that."

"I guess you're right," Celia said. She glanced at him. "That's kind of ironic," she told him.

"What's ironic?"

"You're saying it wasn't Tom's fault that Lauren had her accident. How is that any different from what happened to Emily?"

Locke froze. Then, slowly, he buried his face in his hands. "You're right," was his muffled answer. "There's no difference at all."

Celia walked over and put her arm around him. "It's okay," she said softly, running her hand through his hair. "These things take time. Just think about it, will you?" Locke nodded and she let go of him. She shivered, wishing she hadn't let Cassie convince her to wear such a flimsy dress. Why were hospitals always so cold?

Sit down," Locke ordered. "You can borrow my jacket."

She sank gratefully into the seat next to him and tried once more to get comfortable. It had been one of the longest days she had ever experienced and she couldn't keep her eyes from closing.

Someone sat on her other side and pulled her head down to his shoulder. "Do you feel better now?" Locke said, obviously amused.

"Infinitely." Tom's voice rumbled in her ear.

***

The next morning Celia awoke feeling groggy, uncomfortable, and alone. She stretched her legs out and sighed. Then she remembered why her muscles felt as though they had been tied in knots and sat up.

Locke was slouched next to her, gently snoring. There was no one else in the room. In the seat that Tom had occupied in her dreams was a piece of paper with her name written on it.

"_Celia: Thanks for everything yesterday. I hope you enjoy this. T_."

She flipped it over. That day's date was on the top left, directly above Tom's by now familiar byline.

_Courage_

_By Thomas Elliot_

_How does it start? The proverbial saying is that you get up on the wrong side of the bed. Then you miss your mouth and jab your toothbrush up your nose, you spill your morning coffee all over your white shirt that should really have been washed before you put it on your body that wasn't so clean because you forgot to set your alarm . . . the list goes on and on, and suddenly you have the makings of a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. (If you don't know what I'm talking about read the book by Judith Viorst.)_

_Now, if you're like me, you have one of these days on a fairly regular basis. Or more often, if you're really unlucky. They say the true test of a man is the way he treats his bad day. All right, I'm the one that said that. But it's still true. It takes all sorts of courage to make it through a bad day, and I saw plenty of courage today. Unfortunately, little of it was displayed by me._

_But it might be useful to some of you to see what a truly courageous person does. This afternoon a group of friends and I were journeying across a fairly large lake when one of the members of our group hit her head and fell unconscious into the water. I must confess that almost everyone in that boat stood around like idiots for way too long – everyone except the one girl that no one expected to rise to the occasion. No one but me, that is._

_She took charge, barking out assignments like a drill sergeant, and within minutes the situation was under control. I floated there, treading water and wondering why she had been calm enough to remember that I had been a swimmer in high school, even reminding me to take off my shoes._

_Afterward she melted, a little, and I now sit in the ER waiting room watching her sleep on my shoulder while I try to type as quietly as I can with one hand. She was composed enough to save a person's life. Can I be courageous enough to save my own heart?_

_For my sake I can only hope I can._

Many, many thanks to Linnea for kindly looking this over for me during Christmas. She saved you all from being bored by redundant phrases! And, as always, reviews are welcome. I'd love to hear what you think of the chapter!


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Tom's column fell to the floor when the door opened. Rachel came into the waiting room, her face pale and drawn.

"How's she doing?" Celia whispered. She put her foot on the sheet of paper and dragged it under her seat.

"Not too bad," Rachel sighed. She sat next to Celia and leaned her head back on the wall. "The doctors say she has a skull fracture and a mild concussion, but she'll be all right."

"Aren't they worried about the fact that she nearly drowned?"

Rachel tilted her head to look at Celia. "She didn't nearly drown," she pointed out. "You made Tom jump in before she could get any water in her lungs. Lauren's lucky you were in that boat with us; she could have died before anyone did anything helpful."

The words of Tom's column filled Celia's head. "That's what Tom said," she mused. "But you're not giving yourself enough credit. Someone would have snapped out of it before – "

"Don't," Rachel interrupted wearily. "I'm not in the mood to listen to you be humble. Stop arguing and let my brain unwind."

Humility? She'd been accused of many things before, but being humble wasn't usually one of them. Celia opened her mouth, intending to disagree, but she looked at her friend and changed her mind. Rachel had closed her eyes, breathing deeply. She looked like she'd been up all night. The room was silent except for the sounds of Locke's waffled snoring and the buzzing of the waiting room clock as it ticked the seconds slowly by. She wondered what Tom was doing.

"I should get back to Chicago." Rachel's voice finally broke the silence.

Celia blinked at her, wondering what going home had to do with Tom. "Huh?"

"I can't imagine telling my mother about Lauren's accident over the phone." Celia thought about Mrs. Tanner. She was a very nice woman, but she did tend to overreact. "Tom said he'll stay here as long as we need him. I don't envy him; once she's out of the hospital and starts to feel better she's likely to be horrid."

"Will she be released anytime soon?"

Rachel closed her eyes as she spoke. "They want to run a few more tests to be sure her brain wasn't damaged, but after tomorrow I think she can leave. I don't know what to do with her, though. She probably won't get back in a boat, so that leaves the house on the island out, and we don't know anyone else up here."

"I'll stick around until my job starts," Celia said. Try as she might, she couldn't keep the grimace from her face.

"What do you mean you don't know anyone up here?" Locke said from his chair. His eyes remained closed. "What am I, chopped liver?"

Rachel sat straighter in her chair. "I couldn't ask you to do that," she protested. "Lauren's not the easiest person to live with under ideal circumstances, and you'll have to live with her at her worst. You can't know what you're saying."

Locke laughed to himself. "You don't know my parents," he said. "They're the type of people who would love Lauren back to health. Heck, by the time they're through with her you might not even recognize her."

Sighing, Rachel gave in. "Let me talk to Lauren about it," she said. "If she agrees, and your parents really don't mind, we'll take you up on your offer." She paused. The room was silent save for the sound of the clock. "And thank you," she added. "I'm more grateful than I can say."

"When do you want to leave?" Celia asked.

"As soon as I can collect my things and get on a plane. Mom and Dad will want to know what happened."

"I'll get your clothes from the house if you want to stay with Lauren," Celia said. "I need to get out of this dress, anyway."

"I'll take you over to the house." Locke stood up and stretched his arms over his head. "I've had enough of hospitals to last me a lifetime."

Celia handed him his jacket, smiling gratefully. "Thanks," she said simply.

Rachel yawned. "Celia, do you want to see Lauren before you go? Cassie's still in there with Michael, and she'd probably like to talk to you."

When Celia nodded Rachel stood up and led the way down the hall. Lauren was asleep on the bed, a large bruise on her head the only indication that she had fallen. Tom was sitting next to her, his head bowed as he held her hand. He glanced up when Celia and Rachel entered the room and gave them a half-hearted smile before he returned his gaze to the floor.

Celia looked over at Cassie and Michael, who were speaking quietly in the corner. She trailed her fingers along the foot of the bed as she walked across the room to sit next to her sister. "Have they found anything serious?" she asked in a low voice.

"No, and they think she'll be all right to leave the hospital tomorrow. I should probably get her things from Locke's house." Cassie sighed.

"Don't worry; I'll take care of it. Locke's going to take me over to the island to get Rachel's stuff. Why don't I just get everything while I'm there? I doubt anyone will be in the mood for more vacationing after this."

Cassie leaned over and rested her cheek on Celia's head. "That would be great," she said, relief evident in her tone. "Do you need Michael to help? Lauren has an awful lot of stuff."

"I'll go," Tom said suddenly without looking up. "Just give me a few minutes to talk with the doctor and I'll be ready."

Cassie squeezed Celia's hand as she stood up. "Thanks again," she said. "If you can't get everything I'm sure we can make another trip when things are more stable."

Celia smiled at her as she left. When she got back to the waiting room Locke was standing on a chair, trying to turn the television from an all news station.

"I don't know why they insist on showing depressing news in hospital waiting rooms," he grumbled to himself. "Like there's not already enough depressing news in here without having to hear about things that are out of your control."

Celia watched, bemused, as Locke flipped through the channels before stopping at the Cartoon Network. "That's much better," she said.

Locke hopped down from the chair and dusted his hands on his pants. "I didn't know how long you were going to be," he said defensively. "I was preparing myself for a long wait."

"We're actually leaving as soon as Tom speaks with the doctors. I volunteered to get everyone's things. You don't mind, do you?"

Locke came over to sit beside her. He ruffled her hair and draped his jacket over her shoulders. She leaned against him, grateful for the warmth. "Of course not," he said. "The luggage fit in my boat once, didn't it? Why's Tom coming?"

Celia shrugged. "I think he needs to get out of the hospital. He didn't look too good." Her mind wandered to the column he had left for her to read, still stuck under her seat. "How did he find time to submit a column last night?" she asked, half to herself. "I couldn't have been sleeping _that_ soundly. And he didn't have his computer with him."

Locke grinned. "You were _out_," he said. "A tornado could have come through the emergency room last night and you would have woken up in Canada, not knowing how you got there." He chuckled at her affronted look. "I brought his computer over from the boat last night," he went on. "It was really quite touching to watch; you were asleep on his shoulder, and he had to type with his left hand. He was very careful not to wake you."

Celia slumped down in her chair. "I'm so confused," she said.

Locke slouched down in his seat so they matched. "Has Tom done something stupid again?"

She sat up abruptly and grabbed the piece of paper from under her chair. "He writes stuff like this all the time, and yet he's still courting Lauren. What am I supposed to believe?"

Locke was silent as he read Tom's words from the night before. "You have a point," he admitted. "It's like he can't decide what he wants – something available and safe, or something forbidden and dangerous."

"I'm not dangerous."

"Not to me, you're not, but you are the worst sort of danger to Tom. If he let himself admit that he's fallen for you again without a backup plan he might never recover."

Celia wondered what Lauren would think if she knew she was just a backup plan. She smiled to herself as she pictured her reaction. "So what should I do?" she asked, turning her head to look beseechingly at Locke.

He wrinkled his nose at her. "Beats me," he said. "I've never been in your situation before."

"Neither have I," she sighed, "neither have I."

***

The ride to Mackinac Island was silent save for the sound of the engine as it propelled them away from the mainland. Celia watched the clouds as they scuttled across the sky. She never seemed to remember that Mackinac could be unseasonably chilly, even at the beginning of July. She brushed a strand of hair from her face, and as she did so Locke's jacket slipped from her shoulders.

"Here, use mine. It's warmer."

Tom retrieved Locke's coat from the floor of the boat and placed it on the seat next to him. He shrugged out of his and watched as she slid her arms into the sleeves. "Thanks," she said. "Won't you be cold?"

Tom shrugged and went back to his inspection of the waves. When they got to the dock he hopped out and walked quickly up to the house, leaving Celia and Locke to make sure things were secure.

"What's up with him?" Locke asked, staring after Tom.

Celia opened and closed her mouth, not sure what to say. It was as though the Tom from the day before had disappeared and had been replaced by his evil twin. "I don't know," she said slowly. She handed Locke both his and Tom's jackets. "I don't think I'll be needing these anymore."

Locke grinned tightly at her and they started up the hill to the house. "I'll tackle Michael's and Cassie's room if you want to start with the girls'," he said. "Divide and conquer and all that."

"I might take a shower first, if that's okay with you."

Locke wrinkled his nose. "That's not a bad idea," he said with a straight face. "You stink."

"You're a fine one to talk," she retorted before catching his smirk. "You're horrible."

Locke threw his arm around her shoulders and laughed. "Someone needs to keep their sense of humor intact," he said. "Seeing as it's not going to be you or Tom, that leaves me."

Celia looked at him from the corner of her eye. "You're taking all of this quite well," she noted. "Or is this just a really good acting job?"

Locke was quiet as they climbed the steps that led to the porch. "It's not an act, exactly," he said finally. He stopped before Celia could push the door open. "I think I'm just trying to put things in perspective, that's all."

Impulsively, Celia kissed him on the cheek. "That's a big step. I'm glad I was here to see it."

Locke gazed down at her. "You're the main reason why I'm able to do it," he said. "If you weren't like the little sister I never had I'd marry you, no matter what Tom did to me."

Blushing, Celia opened the door. "I'll take that as a compliment, big brother."

"You should, sis. You should."

***

Once she was clean Celia felt much better. She gathered up the few things she had unpacked and placed them in her suitcase before setting it outside her bedroom door. Then she tackled Rachel's room. Rachel had more clothes strewn about than she had, but not as much as Cassie. She didn't envy Locke his self-appointed task.

When she entered Lauren's room, though, she had second thoughts. Maybe Locke had seen this mess, she thought in dismay, and let me think he was letting me off easy. There was no way she was going to get all this junk packed up and back into those suitcases before Rachel wanted to be on an airplane. She shook her head at the chaos surrounding her and started hunting for that ridiculous pink luggage.

Fifteen minutes later she still hadn't found any sign of a pink bag and she was starting to get irritated. Honestly, would it have killed Lauren to put things away? She put her hand over her mouth, glad she hadn't said that aloud. It was bad enough that Lauren had gotten herself almost killed; now Celia was wishing the fate on her again.

Figuring that Locke might have put Lauren's bags away, she wandered down the hall in search of him. All the upstairs bedrooms were empty, including the one Cassie and Michael had shared. She padded down the stairs and was on her way to the library when Tom's voice drifted down the hall. The kitchen door was ajar, and as she came closer his voice got louder.

"I don't know why you're so angry," Tom was saying in a defensive voice. "I'm not doing anything wrong."

"No, you're not doing anything wrong," Locke answered sarcastically. "You're just conveniently dating Lauren to get Celia's goat. That's low, man."

"I'm not dating Lauren." Tom's answer was quick and sure.

"It sure looks like it from where I stand," Locke retorted. "You take her on carriage rides, you let her hang all over you, and you do what she tells you to do. That sounds like dating to me. Bad, nasty dating, but it's still dating."

"I'm not doing it to make Celia mad."

Locke's laughter had no humor in it. "She's not mad, you idiot. She's confused. She reads your columns, where you all but profess your undying love and adoration, and then watches you flirt with another girl. What's she supposed to think?"

Celia held her breath. She was pretty sure she wasn't supposed to be overhearing this conversation but she couldn't make her feet carry her away

"She's supposed to think she made a mistake seven years ago!" Tom was almost shouting.

There was a loud thud, like the sound made by a fist hitting a wooden table. "You'd better be kidding," Locke said quietly.

"You seem awfully interested in Celia's love life all of a sudden."

"I am."

No, no, thought Celia. Please, I don't want Locke to have feelings for me. He's like the big brother I'd like to trade Claudia for.

"And why's that?" Tom's voice was laced with panic.

"Don't be an idiot; I'm not in love with her." Celia breathed out a sigh of relief. "I know I've only known her a few days, but she has this strange hold on me. It's like I'm a long lost brother or something. And while you may be my best friend, I won't stand by and watch you play with her feelings. Lauren's either, for that matter."

There was a long pause. When Tom finally spoke his words were filled with regret. "You're right," he said. "I haven't been fair to either one of them. But I can't break things off with Lauren until she's feeling better; what if she had a relapse or something? It's my fault she got hurt in the first place."

Locke made a disgusted sound. "You give yourself too much credit," he said with some exasperation "Do you think you have some sort of power over women to make them jump into lakes just to get your attention? It's Lauren's fault she had the accitdent. You didn't push her out of the boat."

"But I should have been paying more attention to her."

"You shouldn't have been leading her on all this time. That's all there is to it. Now, if you don't mind, I'd better get back to work. With my luck Celia's already finished packing and she's waiting for us to help her take all those blasted pink suitcases to the boat." The sound of a chair scraping across the floor jerked Celia to her senses and she ran as quietly as she could around the corner to the hall closet, hoping her flushed cheeks wouldn't betray her.

She had just managed to get her breathing back to normal when Locke came up behind her and pulled her hair gently. "Why are you trying to climb in my closet?" he asked in a voice that didn't quite match his casual words. "It's kind of dusty in there."

Celia cleared her throat. She didn't dare look at him. "Have you seen Lauren's bags anywhere? I can't find them in her room."

Locke snorted. "I'd be surprised if you could find anything up there. I'm sorry; I forgot that I put them in the shed. I couldn't keep all that pink in my house without getting sick." He shuddered. "I'll grab them for you if you want to start making sense of her junk." He opened the front door to leave, but not before Celia saw the angry set of his jaw.

Celia climbed slowly up the stairs, thinking about what Tom had said. She couldn't get her mind around the fact that he was using Lauren. Sure, Lauren wasn't her favorite person in the world, but no one deserved to be treated so unfairly. She wondered what could have induced Tom to be so mean.

She was in Lauren's room folding a pink shirt when her cell phone rang. The display flashed Jen's phone number, and she answered with a certain amount of trepidation. "Hey."

"Celia? Thank goodness you answered." Jen's voice sounded frantic.

"What's up? Has Scott gotten into trouble or something?" Celia teased, trying to lighten her friend's mood.

"Something like that." Jen's voice sounded strange, as though she'd been crying for a long time. "He's been shot."

***

Celia frantically threw clothes on the bed, wondering what was taking Locke so long. She dashed the tears from her cheeks as she bent over to gather more pink shirts from where they were scattered on the floor. When she looked up, Tom was staring at her from the doorway.

"What's wrong?" he asked, taking a step into the room.

Celia just held the ridiculously frilly blouse to her stomach, trying to stop crying. "Nothing," she said in a voice she knew did not sound like her own.

Tom caught the blouse as it fell to the floor and tossed it on the bed before he grabbed her shoulders. "Something's wrong," he said. "What is it?"

Celia looked up at him and was horrified when the tears started pouring unhindered down her face. "I'm sorry," she said over and over. "I'm sorry."

Tom made an inarticulate sound and pulled her into his arms. Holding her head on his chest and patting her gently on the back. "It's going to be fine," he said. "Whatever it is, it can't be that bad."

Celia only managed to hiccough.

"Please tell me."

Celia finally got herself under control enough to push away from him. She started tossing more clothes onto the bed. "It's Scott," she said, wiping her eyes on one of Lauren's skirts. "He was shot this morning."

He stared at her blankly.

"Scott Tennant. You know, Jen's husband? The one you met at Jaime's a few weeks ago?"

Tom looked shocked. "Shot? Is he hurt?"

What a stupid question, Celia thought. "The man's been shot with a gun. Of course he's hurt!" She went into the bathroom and started throwing makeup into a bag. "How much of this stuff does she need?" she muttered to herself.

Tom loomed over her. "How badly is he hurt?" he demanded.

"Jen didn't have time to say. He was in the operating room when she called. I need to go home immediately. Her parents are out of the country, and his died a few years ago, so no one's with her right now. I've got to go!" she said shrilly. She tried to push past him back into the bedroom but he wouldn't budge.

"You can leave whenever you want," he said. "But first you need to calm down. You're not going to do either of them any good if you show up at the hospital a nervous wreck."

Celia sat on the toilet and grabbed a tissue. "Okay," she said, wiping her nose. "I need a few minutes."

Tom looked like he didn't believe her, but left her alone when they heard Locke's voice from the hallway.

For a few minutes all Celia could hear was the muffled sound of their conversation. She washed her face in the sink and tried not to look at her reflection. When she emerged from the bathroom one of the suitcases was open on the bed. Tom was stuffing it haphazardly with anything that was near.

"There's no way that'll ever close," Celia said, her voice almost back to normal. "You've got to fold them first."

"I'll make it fit." Tom threw several pairs of shoes on top of an untidy pile of dresses.

Celia laughed shakily. "You can't do that," she chastised. "Lauren would kill you if you spoiled all her nice things."

Tom looked like he didn't really care but stopped himself from saying something that would get him in trouble. "Then show me how to do it." He stood aside as Celia dumped the bag's contents back on the bed and started folding.

"I take it that you're still not very good at laundry."

Tom laughed softly as he tried to mimic her motions. "Not really," he admitted. "What is it with you and laundry? I'm beginning to think you're obsessed with clean clothes."

Celia shrugged and placed a stack of shirts back in the suitcase. "And that's a bad thing because . . ."

Locke's laughter echoed in the room. "He's never been really worried about looking put together," he commented. "Do you need any help?"

"No."

"Yes." Their answers were simultaneous.

Locke covered his smile with his hand. "I'll listen to Celia," he said, smirking at Tom. "Otherwise we could be here for the rest of the day, and I understand someone needs to get to the airport." He leaned over and gave Celia a one-armed embrace. "I'm sorry to hear about your friend," he said in her ear. "Do they have any leads on the shooter?"

Celia shook her head. "It happened while Scott was at work this morning, so they're trying to get the security tapes from the bank. I'm hoping Jen has more information when I get there."

Locke nodded. "Keep me posted, will you?"

Celia smiled at him weakly. "Sure," she said. "I would have wanted to talk to you, anyway. I'll really miss you, Locke." She sniffed and concentrated on the task in front of her, trying to keep calm.

"As would I," he said. "Does Tom have your email address? I can just get it from him."

Celia looked over at Tom, who was studiously ignoring them. "I don't know," she said slowly. "I can give it to you, if you want." She pulled a piece of pink paper from the bedside table and scribbled her address and cell phone number on it. When Locke took it from her he sneezed.

"What is that smell?" he asked, looking like he might gag.

"That's Lauren's perfume." Tom picked up another suitcase. "She soaks all her stationery in it. There's no way to get the smell out. Believe me, I've tried."

Celia almost laughed at the twin looks of distaste on their faces. "I'll give you an unscented copy when we get to the hospital to pick up Rachel," she promised. "I wouldn't want anyone to be sick on my account."

***

Tom spent the journey back to Mackinac City on the phone. He sat far enough away from Celia that she could only hear snippets of his conversation. "I need to change . . . no, it's not for me . . . yes, I paid for it . . . thank you very much." He snapped his phone closed and then glanced up at Celia.

"Do you want me to call Rachel and have her meet us outside the hospital? Your flight leaves in three hours."

She tilted her head and looked at him in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"Aren't you going home with Rachel?"

"Well, yes, but I haven't – "

Tom waved his hand at her. "Don't worry. We'll figure something out." He opened his phone and turned away from her. He was on the phone longer this time, and when he finally hung up he seemed disgruntled. He mumbled something as he stuck the phone back in his pocket.

"Is something wrong?"

Tom ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "Lauren says she won't leave the hospital tomorrow unless her head stops hurting. She could have headaches for the next six months." He leaned his head back and exhaled loudly. "I could be stuck here for months."

"Hey," Locke protested. "That wasn't very nice. Michigan's not that bad, you know. You might actually enjoy yourself."

"Fat chance of that happening," Tom muttered. "I need to get back home. I have a job, you know, and things that need to be looked after." He glanced at Celia.

"I think the things can take care of themselves," Locke said innocently.

"That's what I'm afraid of."

Celia had the distinct impression that they were talking about her but decided to ignore them. She was perfectly capable of looking after her own affairs. If Tom didn't see that, he didn't know her as well as he said he did.

Rachel and Cassie were waiting outside the hospital's entrance when they arrived. Cassie ran up to the car as it stopped and pulled Celia onto the pavement and into her arms.

"We heard about Scott," Cassie said. "I'm so sorry, Celia. I wish I could come home with you."

Celia was grateful Cassie couldn't see her face. "It'll be fine," she said, trying to believe it. "I'm sure Scott will pull through and be back to his normal obnoxious self before I know it."

"You'll stay in our apartment, won't you?"

Celia blinked at her. She hadn't really considered where she'd stay. "I really need to find an apartment of my own," she said slowly, "but if you and Mick don't mind, I'd be really glad to housesit for you until then."

Cassie beamed at her. "Then it's settled. Do whatever you want. I trust you."

Celia tried to smile back. "Even if I paint the walls of your bedroom?"

"As long as it's not pink." The two sisters laughed and shared a final embrace before Rachel pulled Celia into the car.

"Call me when you get to Chicago!" Cassie called as the car pulled away.

It only took thirty minutes to get back to the airport, but Celia was glad for the drive. She hadn't had time to pay attention to the Mackinac Bridge when they had taken Lauren to the hospital the day before, and she was grateful for the chance to watch as they crossed it this time.

"I'm going to miss Mackinac," she said to Rachel.

"You're going to miss Locke's house," Rachel corrected.

Celia smiled at Locke, who was looking at her in the rearview mirror. "More his library than anything else," she agreed, sharing a smile with him.

Once they got to the airport Locke stopped the car and jumped out to collect their suitcases from the trunk. Celia walked behind him and kissed him on the cheek. "I'm really going to miss you," she said. "Please take care of yourself. And come see me when you get a chance. I should have an apartment within the next few weeks, and you're welcome to bunk on the couch anytime you want."

"You can count on it," Locke said. He grabbed her in a bear hug tight enough to crack her back. "Call when you get home."

"I will." She hugged him one last time and turned to leave. "Where's my bag?" she asked, looking around. "It was here just a second ago."

Locke cocked his head toward the airport door. "Tom's got you," he said. "Now go." He grinned at her and hopped back in the car before he could get in trouble for being double parked.

Celia trailed behind Rachel and Tom, wondering what he was doing. When she got to the ticket counter he was waiting impatiently for her.

"They need your ID," he said. "Hurry up or you'll miss the flight."

Celia fumbled in her bag. "But I haven't paid for a ticket," she protested.

"I told you everything would be all right," Tom said. "Now come on."

She eyed him as he handed her the ticket. "Did you do this?" she asked.

Tom shrugged uncomfortably. "I know you're staying at Cassie's," he said, rummaging around in his pockets before pulling out his keys, "but you'll need a way home. Take my car. If I need a ride when I get back I'll call you."

Celia was touched by his thoughtfulness and said as much. "You don't need to do all of this," she said. "I can really manage – "

"Celia, please," Tom interrupted with a pained expression on his face. "Consider it thanks for everything you've done on this trip." He paused for a moment, as if he were gathering his courage, then rushed on. "I wish you could stay. You're the only one around here with a lick of sense."

Celia could feel her cheeks getting warm. "You're just saying that because I'm the only one who doesn't talk back to you."

"You are," he insisted. "You already have Locke under some sort of spell, and Cassie and Michael are afraid of what will happen when you leave. I wish you could stay."

Celia suddenly found her shoes extremely interesting.

"You'd better get going," he said abruptly. "Did you give Locke your information?"

"No, I forgot. Would you mind?" She pulled a piece of white paper out of her bag and smiled impishly at him. "Tell Locke I changed my mind about making him sick. I sprayed his note with my own perfume before we left the house," she confided. "Just in case he needs an antidote for Lauren's."

Tom took it from her hand. "I'll give it to him," he said. "Now go. I'll probably see you when I get back."

Celia hesitated, then leaned over and quickly brushed a kiss on his cheek in what she hoped was a casual gesture. "Thanks for everything," she said after she had stepped back. "And I'll repay you as soon as I can."

She watched him from the line at security. Tom stood rooted to the spot for a minute, his hand on his cheek. When he turned to leave his other hand, the one holding her scented note, had drifted up to his face as well.

***

The flight was, surprisingly, on time, and once they were in the air Rachel sighed. "It's good to be going home,' she said. "I feel guilty for thinking this way, but I don't envy Cassie and Michael. It's bound to be a long few weeks for them."

"Is she doing any better?"

Rachel stifled a yawn. "The doctors seem to think she'll be just fine, but Lauren insists that she can't leave the hospital. I think that has more to do with her hot doctor than any actual medical complaint, though."

"Well, that's a good sign, isn't it? If she's feeling good enough to flirt with doctors then she can't be in too much danger."

"My sentiments precisely," Rachel said slowly. A second later her eyes had drifted shut.

Celia lowered the window shade and tried to follow Rachel's example. Every time she closed her eyes, though, the words Locke and Tom had shared in the kitchen of Locke's house came back to her. It sounded like Tom wasn't, and had never really been, all that interested in Lauren. At least he was going to tell her. Eventually.

She was wondering whether that also meant he would stop writing about her in his column when she fell into a fitful sleep, where pink suitcases flew around her head and chased her into a huge newspaper. When at last she pulled herself out of the dream they were ready to land.

It took them a while to find Tom's car. Rachel hadn't paid as much attention to what he drove as Lauren had, and Celia only knew that it was a black – what did the keyfob say? – BMW. That's really helpful, she thought. There could be five hundred black BMWs in here. After several minutes of wandering aimlessly up and down the aisles Rachel grabbed Celia's arm.

"Give me the keys." Celia took one look at her face and handed them over. Rachel pushed the panic button and a car horn two rows over started blaring. "That's the one," she said with a satisfied smile. "Come on, let's get out of here. I have never wanted to be home so much in my life."

Celia followed her across the parking garage, hoping that she would feel the same way once she got her own apartment. Home seemed like a foreign concept, one she wanted to experience more than anything. At least I don't have to stay with Henry and Claudia, she thought in relief.

She dropped Rachel off at her parent's house with a quick squeeze and whispered, "Good luck!" before Rachel ran up the steps of the house. Celia watched her go, crossing her fingers that Mrs. Tanner wouldn't freak out too much. Knowing her, though, she probably would. Celia hoped Ben would get back from his road trip soon. Rachel would need a diversion.

It was dark by the time she pulled into a parking spot at the hospital. She sat for a minute in the car after shutting off the engine, taking several deep breaths. She was starting to feel like she lived in a hospital, and she didn't like the feeling at all. With any luck, Scott's injuries would be as easily fixed as Lauren's had been.

She frowned when she saw the visiting hours posted over the front desk. She'd missed it by twenty minutes. Glancing down the hall, she ducked into a bathroom and dialed Jen.

"I'm here," she said quietly into the phone. "What room are you in?"

"Celia! I'm so glad you're here. Sneak up the stairs by the gift shop and I'll meet you at the fourth floor."

No one saw her scamper across the dimly lit entrance. As promised, Jen met her at the top of the stairs.

"This way," she said, and started down the hall. "And if anyone asks, you're my unmarried sister."

Celia grimaced. "Thanks a lot."

"It could happen," Jen said. "Lots of sisters have different hair color."

Rolling her eyes, Celia followed her down the hall and into a darkened room. "How is he?" she whispered.

Jen sat on a chair next to the bed. "Whoever shot him had really bad aim if they were trying to kill him," she said, trying to sound lighthearted. "They got him in the shoulder, which wouldn't be too bad if someone had found him right away. Since it's a Saturday, and no one else was in the office, he was there for a long time. He lost a lot of blood."

"Will he be okay?"

Jen ran her hand over her eyes. "He has a new, improved shoulder now. I'm sure he'll be thrilled when he wakes up. He always wanted to be Titanium Man."

Celia moved to stand behind her and started rubbing her shoulders. "Have they figured out who shot him?"

Jen shrugged. "I haven't heard," she said wearily. "The police have been asking if he's ticked anyone off at work, but I don't see how that's possible. He's only been there a few moths. I guess they'll be here to talk to him tomorrow. If he's awake by then."

Celia leaned forward until her dark hair mingled with Jen's blonde ponytail. "I'm sure he'll be awake and annoying before you know it."

***

Celia left the hospital several hours later, driving back to Cassie's apartment, glad the day was finally over. It seemed like weeks since she woke up in the hospital waiting room in Michigan. After she parked Tom's car in its usual spot she made her feet carry her up the stairs. She paused, the key in the lock, before she pushed open the door.

There was a mess of papers and notices littering the space in front of Tom's door. She knew she should just leave it alone, but after all he had done for her that afternoon she found she couldn't. She turned the key to lock it again and trudged down the hall.

She was intending on shoving the mess into the foyer and leaving it for him, but when she opened the door with the house key that was on the key ring he had given her she caught her breath. Now, even more than the last time she had been in there, Tom's scent caught her by surprise. She wondered if he had spilled some of his cologne in his hurry to pack and get out the door when they had all left for Michigan.

She followed the smell down the hall and into the kitchen. Sure enough, there was an overturned bottle that had slowly leaked onto the counter. Wondering why he had cologne in the kitchen in the first place, she set it back upright and tried to mop up the spill as best she could. This was some sort of sick torture, she thought. Now I'll smell like him all night. She noticed the sink full of dirty dishes and shook her head. Maybe she should give Tom lessons in housecleaning with Cassie. It appeared that he could use it.

When she walked into Cassie's apartment she had just enough energy to throw her bag on the bedroom floor and brush her teeth before she sank onto the bed, still fully clothed. She was asleep by the time her head hit the pillow.

It could have been the fact that the scent of Tom's cologne surrounded her, or that she had left him several hundred miles away to take care of another woman, but all she did that night was dream of Tom – his sudden grin, the look on his face when he had seen Alex almost kiss her, the way she felt when they were dancing together. She woke up the next morning with his face still in her head, only the image in front of her was his expression when she had told him that she had read all of his columns. She still didn't know what he was going to say to her before Lauren fell off the boat. She wondered if she'd ever find out.

She climbed groggily out of bed and glanced at her alarm clock, groaning when she saw the time. She hadn't slept this late in years. She hurried through her shower and polished off the only food left in Cassie's refrigerator, making a mental note to get to the grocery store that day. She couldn't survive on stale bread and jalapenos.

Grabbing her phone, Celia left the apartment and marched purposefully toward Tom's. She planned on at least washing his dishes as a way to start paying him back for some of the effort he had expended in helping her get back to Chicago. She turned her phone on while she waited for the water to get hot.

She hadn't had time to call Cassie when she and Rachel had deplaned, so she wasn't surprised to see four messages waiting for her. The first, as expected, was from her sister.

"Hey, Celia, it's Cassie. I hope you're home safe and that nothing happened to you. Call when you get this!"

The second message was from May. "Celia, dear. You'll never guess who came by yesterday! Do you remember that nice boy I tried to introduce you to a long time ago? Alex Stanfield? Well, he's back in town and he wants your phone number. I hope you don't mind that I gave it to him. He's not like the other boys," she added, sounding slightly guilty. "He's a keeper. Call me when you're back in town and we'll do brunch."

Celia rolled her eyes. Thank goodness Alex hadn't told May they'd met on vacation. She'd never hear the end of it. Thanking her lucky stars that he seemed like a reasonable sort, she listened to her next message.

"Celia! This is Locke. Your sister is driving me crazy wondering why you haven't called her yet. So be a dear and pick up your phone. If she doesn't make me want to jump off the bridge, Tom will. He's just as bad, worrying about you. Call, please."

Celia was feeling even worse. Why hadn't she taken the time to talk to anyone last night? She should have at least called Cassie. Fortunately her last message was good news.

"Scott woke up this morning." Jen's voice rang happily in her ear. "He seems to feel pretty good, but he's a little out of it. Stop by when you can."

Pouring soap into the sink, Celia dialed Locke's number. It would be easiest to take care of two people at once.

"This had better be Celia Fuller," Locke growled when he answered the phone. "Because if it's not, I imagine it's a gangster asking for some ridiculous ransom because she's been kidnapped."

"Would you pay it if it was?" Celia asked.

Locke laughed. "I don't have the money, but Tom would probably mortgage his soul to get you to come back here."

Celia decided to ignore that. "I'm sorry I didn't call last night. Things got a little crazy."

"Yeah, that's what Rachel said when she called Michael. You could have saved me a lot of grief, you know. I knew you were home, but your sister and lover-boy here were going a little bonkers waiting."

"I'm sorry," she said again.

"Aw, I'm just giving you a hard time. How's your friend doing?"

"Recovering, I think. His wife called this morning to say that he was awake, so that's good news."

"I'm glad to hear it. In case you were interested, Lauren has agreed to come to my parents' house for a while, with the stipulation that her hot doctor will see her every few days. He's kindly agreed, I think to save Tom's mind. He was getting a little desperate there for a while."

"I'm glad she's feeling better."

Locke laughed. "Nothing a little sleep and an – " he cleared his throat – "attentive doctor can't cure. Cassie's asleep upstairs or I'd give the phone to her. I'll be sure to tell her you finally called."

"Thanks," she said drily. "I really appreciate the concern."

"All genuine, darlin', all genuine. Did you want to talk to Tom? He's sitting right here."

With her hands submerged in his sink, surrounded by his things, Celia wasn't sure that would be a good idea. "I don't know," she said. "I have several calls to make. If you don't think he'd be too mad I'll pass this time."

"It's your call," Locke said easily. "I'll buzz later when you're not so busy. And, Celia?"

"Yes?"

"I'm glad you rang. We really miss you around here."

Celia smiled. "The feeling's mutual. Talk to you later."

She felt slightly guilty for avoiding Tom, but it would feel strangely intimate if she talked to him on the phone while washing his dishes, as though they were married. She stacked the clean pots and plates on the counter, not wanting to poke through his cupboards, before opening the front door.

She had left the morning newspaper on the mat outside, thinking she would toss it in when she left. When she picked it up, though, she carried it back to the kitchen and laid it on the table. She wondered again if Tom was going to stop writing about her.

Almost of their own accord, her fingers turned to page three. There he was, in his usual spot. His picture seemed to wink at her from atop his byline.

_The BFF_

_By Thomas Elliot_

_It started back in 1908, when Anne Shirley and Diana Barry became "kindred spirits." My generation called them best friends, and teenagers today use the acronym "BFF." It took me a while to figure out what exactly that meant; it seems like kids these days have a different BFF every other Wednesday._

_But best friends, forever or otherwise, are a valuable thing to have. I met my own BFF in college when we were assigned to room together at Northwestern. Locke and I (he's given me permission to use his name) really grew up together. He talked me through girl troubles, and I helped him recover from pledge weeks that never really panned out. _

_It was his idea in the first place to bring my ex on vacation with me. I suppose he'd heard enough about her over the years to have formed a natural curiosity about the girl that broke my heart, and on a whim I agreed. Imagine my shock when, instead of the cynical sarcasm I was expecting – and, I'm afraid to admit, secretly hoping for -- I found an instant meeting of the minds._

_I used to think a person could only have one BFF at a time. That assumption was crushed to bits when I watched Locke interact with my ex. From their first introduction it was like they had been friends for years instead of merely days, or even hours. I covet that kind of relationship._

_I also long for the kind of rapport she shares with her other best friend, who, by some strange coincidence, happens to be her former college roommate. This friend had a personal tragedy back in Chicago, and my former love interest dropped everything to fly back to be by her side, even though there was nothing she could do to change things. That's some kind of friendship._

_I used to have this kind of connection with her. In high school, before things spun out of control, we would be the kind of people who finished each other's sentences. Now I can only watch as she shares that ability with someone else. I miss my BFF._

_But with any luck, and a really powerful turn of fate, I can reverse the trend I have formed for myself. Maybe karma will be kind to me for once. And if not, I'll do everything in my power to make sure we get back to what we once were. My happiness depends on it._

Many, many thanks go to Linnea who traipsed around town looking for an internet signal to get this betaed for me. Betas are so cool! Thanks, ma'am.

And Melissa? Tom is not a woman-hating meddling playboy or a drug dealer or a wife beater. You'll have to trust me on this.

Thanks for all the lovely reviews last week. It really makes my day to see what you think! Review away – I'll love you forever! (Or at least try my darndest to get the next chapter up soon . . . )


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Celia buried her face in her hands. Every word Tom had said was true – they _had_ been best friends, from the very first word he had spoken to her in English class. Strangely enough, she had felt the same connection with Locke, as though they had known each other before and were simply picking up where they had left off at their last meeting. With Locke it had been a fraternal connection, but Tom . . . Her eyes fell on a line toward the bottom of the column: _I miss my BFF_.

The words swam in front of her. I will _not_ cry, she told herself fiercely. I've already shed enough tears for Tom Elliot. I can't possibly have any more to spare.

Her mind wandered back to the conversation she'd overheard in Locke's kitchen the day before. Was Tom going to break things off with Lauren? She supposed she'd have to wait and see. But did she want him to come back to Chicago, unattached and apparently determined to start things up again? She thought about how he had treated Lauren and wasn't sure anymore. Eventually she was going to have to figure out how she felt about Tom. And, from the tenor of his column, the sooner the better.

She wondered how Locke was faring, forced to spend time in the same house as an invalid Lauren. She could see how he could transfer some of the guilt he still felt for Emily's death to Lauren, and prayed fervently that she recovered before he did something stupid. He acted like he wouldn't fall in that trap, but the parallels between the two situations were strikingly similar . . .

And if Tom did stop seeing Lauren, what exactly did that mean? Which of them did Tom really want to date? His columns certainly suggested that it wasn't Lauren. _And if not, I'll do everything in my power to make sure we get back to what we once were. _He couldn't be serious. Could he? He hadn't actually told Locke that he still loved her, just that he felt guilty for jerking both her and Lauren around.

An image, more vivid than she thought possible, flitted into her mind. It was the look on Tom's face when he saw her just after she had spoken to Jen at Locke's house. He looked like he knew exactly how she was feeling, and would do anything in his power to help. She missed that connection. Impulsively she grabbed a pen from the counter and, before she could think twice, scribbled a short note on the bottom of the article. _I miss him too_.

She was still thinking about Tom when she climbed the hospital stairs an hour later. This time I'm legal, she thought in wry amusement, thinking back to the night before, and turned into Scott's room.

"I need more than jello and broth," he was saying irritably to the nurse, who was trying unsuccessfully to convince him otherwise. "What are you trying to do, float me out of here?"

The nurse placed the tray on the bedside table and patted Scott's foot. "Honey, you're not getting anything else. If I were you I'd prefer floating to starving." She gave Jen a wink and left the room, glancing at Celia as she passed.

"So they're trying to drown you, are they?" Celia asked, looking at Scott's disgusted expression.

"It's bad enough I have to be here in the first place," he grumbled.

"You almost died," Jen pointed out from her seat by the window. "I still don't see why you didn't pick up the phone and dial 911. You would have been a lot better off."

"Well, I would have, but there was blood everywhere and I panicked. Then I passed out."

"From loss of blood," Jen said irritably. "Remind me not to have you in the delivery room when we have our first child. You'll be out cold on the floor at the first labor pain. Hey, Celia. Enter at your own risk. He's been a grump ever since breakfast."

Scott looked fondly at his wife. "Sorry, Jenny."

When Celia sat next to her, Jen leaned over. "He's on a lot of pain medication," she whispered. "I wouldn't listen to half of what he's saying. He's been like this all morning. Do you remember when he had his wisdom teeth out a few summers ago? He kissed the doctor and sang all the way home."

Celia snickered. "I take it all pain meds work the same."

Jen rolled her eyes. "Sure seems to. Any minute now he'll be sound asleep. The nurses all have bets as to how long it's going to take."

Scott, who wasn't paying any attention to them, continued talking to his wife as if they'd never stopped conversing. "I just think you're making this a lot worse than it actually is. I heal really fast, you know. And I'm not as wimpy as you think I am."

Celia sat next to Jen. "He heals fast for a man," Jen whispered. "And we both know what that means."

"Twice as long as a woman?"

"You got it."

They laughed together, Jen at Scott and Celia at her friend. She was glad Jen was feeling happy enough to laugh today, a sharp change from the night before.

"How did things go with the police this morning?"

Scott shrugged and then winced. He ignored his wife's meaningful look. "Fine, I guess. I didn't have a whole lot to tell them."

"Don't you remember anything?"

Scott eyed the tray sitting next to him and sighed. "Just that it was a man wearing the strangest baseball hat I've ever seen in my life."

"Did he take anything from your desk?"

Wearing a martyred expression, Scott pulled the tray toward him and picked up the spoon. "Beats me. I had gone into the office to look through your dad's folder. I'd been going over it for only half an hour or so when this guy appeared around the corner, pulled out a gun, and shot me. It was kind of cool," he said, trying to get the broth into his mouth without dripping it down his front. "Like I was in a cop show or something. They should make this into a movie."

Jen snorted and moved to sit next to him. "You're making a huge mess," she scolded. She unfolded his napkin and tucked it in his shirt. "Try harder not to slosh around so much."

"I'd like to see you try to eat broth with your left hand."

"I _am_ left-handed, honey."

"Well, then with your right hand. Don't be so critical."

A few minutes later the bowl was empty and Scott was snoring on his pillow. Jen pulled out her watch. "Three hours and twenty-two minutes," she noted. "I'll have to tell the nurses. He lasted a lot longer than I expected." She wrote the time on the white board at the foot of his bed and then turned to her friend. "Now that we won't be interrupted, tell me about your trip. How was Michigan? It sounds like things have been interesting."

Celia raised her eyebrows in surprise. "How do you know that?"

Smiling, Jen held up the newspaper next to the phone. "Tom's columns have been very enlightening for those of us who can read between the lines. What exactly happened the other day?"

Celia recounted the story of Lauren's accident, trying as much as she could to minimize her portion of the tale. Jen, of course, saw right through that.

"So what you're not saying is that you really saved the day," Jen said when Celia had finished talking. "You always were good in an emergency."

Celia was saved from answering when her cell phone buzzed in her pocket. "I forgot to turn it off," she said apologetically.

Jen waved her hand in the air. "Go ahead and answer it. There's not a phone in here, anyway."

Celia flipped it open. "Hello?"

"Is this Cecilia Fuller?"

The voice sounded vaguely familiar. "Yes, it is."

"This is Sarah Pompilius from the Chicago Public Library. I'm sorry to disturb you on a Sunday afternoon."

"That's all right."

"I'll get straight to the point. Your predecessor is having her baby tomorrow and we need you sooner than we thought. Are you able to start working on Tuesday?"

Celia blinked. "Yes, of course. That won't be a problem."

"Excellent. I'll plan on seeing you at eight o'clock sharp on Tuesday morning. Let me know if you have any questions before then."

Celia thanked her and snapped the phone closed, her mind racing. "I need to find an apartment," she said, thinking out loud.

Jen glanced up. "Is everything okay? You look a little panicked."

"My first day of work is Tuesday. I told myself I'd be out of Cassie's place before I started at the library."

"She wouldn't mind if you stuck around an extra week or two," Jen said. "You know she wouldn't."

"But I would." Celia stood up, anxious to get started now that she knew Jen and Scott would be fine. "I've got to go. Call me if anything changes, will you?"

"Wait a second." Jen came around the edge of the bed, grabbing the paper as she came. "Go check out this place first. I have a friend that's looking to sublet, and it's not too far from where we live. She should be home this afternoon," she added, writing a phone number on the margin. She hugged Celia briefly before letting her out the door. She called down the hall after her, "Don't worry, Celia. The world won't collapse if you don't find the perfect apartment today."

Celia grinned over her shoulder before disappearing down the stairs.

***

Sure enough, Celia reached someone at the number Jen had given her and made arrangements to meet at the apartment twenty minutes later. She parked the car in front of the building and looked around. She wasn't in Cassie's neighborhood any more, that was for sure, but it could have been a lot worse. The homes and townhouses that lined the street were older but looked well cared for.

An older woman, probably around May's age, came outside when Celia got out of her car. "Are you Celia?" she asked.

Celia climbed the stairs to greet her. "Yes, and you must be Rhonda. Thanks for seeing me on such short notice."

"No problem. If you're a friend of Jen's you're worth it. Come on in. It's not much, but it's better than nothing."

Celia followed Rhonda down a narrow hallway to the back of the house. "This house was divided into four units a few decades ago," Rhonda said as she opened a door. "I'm afraid I have the smallest, but I happen to think it has the best view."

The apartment was a little smaller than small, Celia thought to herself. The front door opened into a tiny sitting room, and she could see an equally small kitchen through an entrance at the opposite end of the room. Both were painted a hideous shade of green.

"Follow me." Rhonda went into the kitchen and climbed a narrow, winding staircase. When she got to the top Celia gasped.

The room was twice as large as the two below, with large windows lining two walls. She walked to one and gazed out onto a small park. Children were flying kites and sailing boats on the pond, and flowers lined the paths.

"See what I mean?"

"What _is_ that?" Celia could hardly believe her eyes.

"The residents of the neighborhood got together a long time ago and decided that it would be a good way to keep their property values up," Rhonda explained. "They designed the park to appeal to people of all ages, and you can see that they were successful. I call this my library, even though there aren't any books in here anymore."

Celia turned around to look across the room. The wall was lined with empty bookshelves that needed a good dusting. The bottom row of shelves had doors that she assumed were for storage.

"The bedroom's back by the stairs," Rhonda said, watching her closely. "It's small, but the bathroom's lovely." Celia opened the door in a daze and was faced with another stunning view of the park. She peeked into the bathroom and had to hold onto the doorknob.

"This is better than any bathroom I've ever seen," she said weakly. It was easily as large as the bedroom itself, and the sunken tub could fit several people. Next to it was a shower with faucets on two sides.

"How is this possible?" she asked without turning around. "The rooms downstairs are so tiny."

Rhonda laughed. "I don't know who put the bathroom in, but I thank my lucky stars that they did every time I take a bath. The library used to be the children's nursery, and the original owner wouldn't hear of dividing it. The unit downstairs is twice as big; they have the rest of the first floor on this side as well as the rooms around the back of the house. I think it's the best apartment in the house, even though you couldn't fit more than two people at a time in that kitchen. If you're a chef, I'm afraid this is not the place for you."

Celia thought about her failed attempt to teach Cassie how to cook and grinned. "I'm no chef, even by very generous definitions." She looked at the woman in front of her. "How much did you want for it?" she asked nervously. There was no way she could afford it.

Rhonda hesitated. "Well, it depends on a couple of things. I have to get down to New Mexico to take care of my aunt, and I'd need someone to move in as soon as possible. And I really don't want to move the furniture."

Celia glanced at the furnishings. They were a little outdated – she was sure Cassie would object -- but appeared comfortable and lived in, a sharp contrast to Cassie's. She nodded. "I understand. I'm currently staying at my sister's, and I don't have a lot of things anyway. I could move in as soon as you'd like." She hoped she didn't sound too eager.

Rhonda smiled and named her price. "I'd forget about the security deposit if you'd be willing to paint the sitting room and the kitchen," she added. "My nephew painted that several years back while I was on vacation and I haven't had the heart to redo it. If you did it he might not mind so much."

Celia breathed a sigh of relief. The amount of money Rhonda wanted was within her limited budget if she was careful. "It's a deal," she said, shaking the older woman's hand. "When do you want me?"

"Does tomorrow sound too soon?" The two laughed.

"That sounds perfect." Celia shook her hand and it was agreed. Tomorrow, she thought. I'll be independent again in less than twenty four hours. The knowledge made her light-hearted.

Celia felt so good that she decided to visit Henry and Claudia before she started packing the few things she had at Cassie's. May's car was in the driveway when she pulled up to the curb in front of their new home.

No one answered when she knocked, and the door wasn't locked, so she walked in. It looked like a smaller version of the old house, although with gaudier frames lining the walls. She shook her head as she went down the hallway, looking into rooms as she passed. She didn't know how they were paying for this.

Everyone was in the den, sitting on uncomfortable looking couches and looking bored. Ashley, in a red satin dressing gown, was sitting a little too close to Henry. He looked rather pleased with himself, and kept rustling his paper in an attempt to get the rest of the party to pay more attention to him. No one seemed to notice she was there until May glanced up at the clock over the mantel and saw Celia's reflection in the mirror next to it.

"Celia! When did you get here?"

"I flew in last evening. How's everyone doing?"

May smiled. "We had a visitor just before you came," she said, looking particularly smug. "Alex Stanfield stopped by to get your phone number and see how the family was handling the recent move. His mother keeps him up to date, you see."

"That's very nice of him." Celia was surprised that he would exert himself so much for a family he only knew about through his mother, but decided to keep her opinions to herself.

A disgruntled Ashley shifted even closer to Henry's side. "Can't we go somewhere fancy for dinner?" she asked, inching her hand up his arm and squeezing his elbow. "Like the place we went last night. I want to get dressed up again."

"Of course we can. What do you think, should we invite May to even out the group? I hate odd numbers of people at a dinner table. It looks so off-balance."

May cleared her throat. "Henry, did you realize that Celia is here?"

Henry finally looked up from his paper. "She is? Celia, what are you doing here?"

Celia tried not to roll her eyes. "I came by to see your new house," she said. "I hadn't had a chance to visit since you moved in. How are you liking Naperville?"

Henry went back to his paper. "It's adequate," he said, patting Ashley's hand absently. "I suppose you want to come to dinner with us. We'll have an odd number after all." He sighed heavily.

"No, I can only stay a few minutes. I just wanted to give you my new address."

"New address?" Claudia finally tore her attention away from the fashion magazine she was flipping through. "Have you finally decided to get married?"

Celia stared at her sister, wondering, not for the first time, how they could have been born from the same parents. "You don't have to get married to change your address," she said, trying to keep the exasperation out of her voice. "I got a job at the library and wanted to get out of Cassie's and Michael's way."

"Oh, you're a feminist." Claudia looked at her sister pityingly. "Don't worry. You'll snap out of it eventually."

Some things never change. "Well, I'm glad to hear you're doing as well as can be expected. I'll see myself out."

No one moved, or even looked up, when she left the room, May following closely behind her.

Once they were safely outside Celia turned to her aunt. "I see things haven't changed since we sold the house."

May opened her bag and started rummaging for her keys. "No, I'm afraid not. Sometimes I think the only person who could control the two of them was your mother, God rest her soul. It was a real blow when she died, for more reasons than one."

"Even Mom couldn't perform miracles."

May sighed. "You're right, of course; Anne was just delaying the inevitable. I don't understand it, though. There's no way Henry and Claudia could have gone through that much money so quickly. Did your friend ever make sense of it?"

Shaking her head, Celia sat on the top step. "No, and he was shot yesterday at work. I really hope it didn't have anything to do with us. I'd never forgive myself otherwise." She continued after a long pause. "Has Ashley been that . . . affectionate toward Henry very long?"

May pulled a tissue out of her bag and dusted off the space next to Celia before sitting down and crossing her ankles. "Ever since she moved in here. Why do you ask?"

Celia shrugged, trying to decide which made her more uncomfortable – the fact that Ashley was living there in the first place, or that she was trying to seduce her father. "It seems strange that she'd be interested in Henry at all," she said finally. "I mean, he could be her father. And Henry's not wealthy enough anymore to be a sugar daddy. What do you suppose the attraction is?"

May frowned. "I assumed she was just being friendly to help him get through the shock of losing the house. She really only tries to get him to take her to fancy restaurants and send her to the spa, but if you think it's important I'll keep an eye on her."

"It couldn't hurt."

"Now tell me about your new place. Where is it, and when do you move in? I'd love to throw you a housewarming party."

Celia tried not to laugh. Once a social planner, always a social planner, she thought. "Once I get settled in I'll invite you over for dinner. The landlady is leaving all her furniture there, so I don't really need anything. Thanks for the offer, though. It's very kind of you." She scribbled her new address on a piece of paper and gave it to May. "You're welcome to stop by any time you like, as long as you don't bring any strange men with you. I meant what I said earlier," she added, looking May straight in the eye. "I'm not going on any more blind dates. If Alex Stanfield wants to go out with me he can call me himself."

"All right, all right." May stood up and brushed off her pants. "I'll leave you alone. But I think Alex will call you. He seemed pretty determined to get your number."

Thinking of Tom, Celia made a face. "I'll believe it when I see it."

As she opened her car door Celia caught a glimpse of red through an upstairs window. An arm reached for the curtain and pulled it closed.

***

The next day she packed her suitcases and the few boxes she had stored under the bed in Cassie's spare room and shoved them all in her car. She'd give Cassie her key when she came home from Michigan, but she didn't know what to do with Tom's. She had no way of contacting him unless she called Locke, and that didn't seem like a good solution. In the end she settled for leaving them under the doormat with a note that read, simply, "Thanks for everything. Celia."

When she opened the door of her own apartment twenty minutes later she put her things away and made the bed. Then she stood in the library for a long time, breathing in the fragrance of her new home. It smelled nice, she decided. A little bit like old lady, but not bad. She'd have to get her books out of storage that weekend, but other than that she was all moved in.

That night, in a bed that she knew would be hers for at least a year, she slept so soundly that if she had any dreams she didn't remember them when she woke up.

The next morning she got up early and then wasted all of her extra time in the shower. Enough hot water blasted out of the faucets to knead away all the kinks and knots in her shoulders and back that had been there since Lauren's accident, maybe even before. Thinking of Lauren reminded her of Locke, and she called him while her bagel toasted in the oven.

"Celia! What are you doing up this early on a Tuesday morning?"

"Getting ready for work." She had a hard time keeping the excitement out of her voice.

"Work? Today? I thought you weren't supposed to start for a couple of weeks."

Celia laughed a little nervously. "I wasn't, but the lady I'm replacing is having her baby early so they needed me sooner than they thought. I'm actually calling to see how Lauren's doing, and to give you my new address."

"Whoa, slow down, woman. You've only been in Illinois two and a half days. How can one person move so fast? Does Cassie know that you've moved out?"

"She should; I left her a message last night. It's easy to explain, you know," she said, trying to grab the bagel without getting burned. She'd have to buy a potholder after work. "Jen had a friend who needed to sublet her apartment and I moved in yesterday. You already know about the job. It doesn't seem so complicated to me."

Locke whistled. "I used to think Tom could keep up with you, but now I'm not so sure. Give me your address. I might want to visit sometime."

Celia hesitated, then the words spilled out. "How's he doing?"

"Tom? Not bad. He's itching to get out of here but he won't until Lauren's all the way better."

Celia leaned against the wall. "Why?"

Locke chuckled softly. "Dost mine ears deceive me? Are you concerned about your local columnist?"

Celia didn't say anything to that. "I don't know why he's being so stubborn," Locke continued. "Maybe all journalists – and librarians – are inflexible when it comes to affairs of the heart. Before I forget," he said abruptly in an effort to change the subject, "what was that address again?"

She rattled it off to him and then repeated her earlier question. "How _is _Lauren doing?"

Locke snorted. "She's been seeing an awful lot of that doctor she met in the hospital. They seem to be getting on very well, so I'd say she'll be back to her normal self in no time."

"I thought you said that your parents would transform her into an unknown creature."

"Oh, they are. But some things are born in you, like the ability to drive Tom crazy. Why he ever pretended to – oof!" The line was silent.

"Locke? Are you there?"

Muffled sounds came over the phone before Locke came back, breathless. "Tom walked past and heard that," he explained. "He tried to grab the phone because he seemed to think I was going to tell you something private. Which I wasn't," he said, Celia assumed, for Tom's benefit. "It's no secret that you were seeing each other."

Celia glanced at the clock on the microwave and gasped. "Locke, I need to get going or I'll be late on my first day. Good luck with Tom."

"No need for luck. I was born better than him. When you realize that, you come see me."

Celia laughed, glad she'd called him. "I'll do that."

She ran out to her car, bagel in hand, anxious to get going. It wouldn't make a very good impression to be late today, she told herself. The car protested as she accelerated up the onramp and she smiled. Tom had teased her unmercifully about speeding when they were younger; she wondered what he'd think of the pace she set once she was on the freeway. Doubtless he'd be horrified. He always had been incredibly slow on the road.

She was halfway to the library when the car gave a sudden lurch and she almost skidded across three lanes of traffic. Panicked, she pulled off to the side of the expressway and got out of the car, trying to ignore the mass of humanity hurtling past her. When she saw the front tire shredded to pieces she almost cried.

She opened the trunk at stared at the donut. It had been an awfully long time since Tom had shown her how to change a tire. How hard could it be?

A few minutes later she was still staring into the trunk, trying to figure out where the jack was. She looked at her watch in despair. "What am I going to do?" she moaned aloud, leaning over the trunk.

"Is something wrong, miss?"

Celia turned her head to stare into a beautiful male face – a face she'd seen only a few days before.

"Celia? Is that you?"

She straightened slowly. "You have a strange knack for showing up at the most convenient times, Alex."

Dressed in an expensive-looking suit, Alex Stanfield stood behind her, his hands on his hips. "I liked the position you were in before," he said, his eyes sliding down to her rear end. "It was most picturesque."

She rolled her eyes. "I don't suppose you know how to change a tire, do you?"

He threw his head back and laughed. "You're one of the strangest girls I've even met. I give you compliments and you just ignore them. But you're in luck," he said, taking off his coat and rolling up his sleeves. "I told you I was an expert at tire repair. They should have let me be an Eagle Scout."

"I really appreciate this," Celia said, hovering next to him and trying not to look at her watch. "You've really saved me. Is there anything I can do to repay you? Besides learning how to change my own tire, that is."

Alex glanced back at her. "If you really wanted to say thank you you'd let me take you out to dinner this weekend."

Celia shook her head. "That hardly seems fair," she objected. "I should be taking you out, not the other way around."

"Ah, but there's where you're wrong. You've spared me from thinking of an excuse to call you. I've spent the past few days wondering when you were getting back into town. Now I have my answer." He stood up and wiped his hands on a towel he had produced from the back seat of his car. "So what do you say? Are we on?" He looked at her, obviously expecting a positive response.

She wondered why she was hesitating. "I'd love to have dinner with you," she finally answered slowly. "Can I meet you somewhere?"

"Don't you trust me to pick you up?" Alex asked, resting against her bumper. "All right, you win this time. Let's say Saturday around four by the fountain at Navy Pier. We can walk around for a while and then catch dinner at Harry Caray's." His smile was dazzling.

"It's a deal," she said, trying to figure out how she ended up on a date with one of the most gorgeous men she'd ever seen. "I'll be looking forward to it."

"As will I," he murmured, leaning a little too close to her. His hand grazed hers when he took his coat from her. "Saturday can't come soon enough."

***

When she got home that evening she could barely drag her feet up the stairs. It had been one of the longest days of her life – and that included the one she had spent at the hospital in Michigan.

She kicked off her shoes and padded up the stairs to the bedroom, shedding hairpins and pulling her blouse from her waistband as she went. When she collapsed on the couch in the library her phone rang from her skirt pocket. She let it go to voice mail, but when it rang again just a few seconds later she sighed and fished it out.

"Hello?"

"Celia! This is Cassie. How was your first day on the job?"

Celia rested her arm over her eyes. "Exhausting. And I haven't actually seen any children yet."

"You poor baby. You should draw yourself a nice hot bath and soak. That always makes me feel better when I'm stressed."

Wondering why Cassie would ever be stressed, she rolled onto her side. "That's not a bad idea. The tub here is phenomenal. You should see it." She tried to stifle a yawn.

"Well, I'll be back on Friday so maybe I'll come by and get the grand tour."

Her arm fell off the couch. "You're coming home? Is Lauren coming with you?" And Tom, she wanted to ask.

"No, she's staying here with Michael. They won't be back for a couple more weeks or so."

"Aren't you going to miss your husband?"

"Of course I am! But I won't be away very long; I'll be in Chicago a few days to get things arranged for college in the fall and then I'll fly back. He won't even notice I'm gone."

"You know, you could do that from where you are. I thought you were trying to economize."

"I am economizing. I'm flying coach."

Celia knew she'd hurt her sister's feelings if she laughed so she turned it into a cough at the last minute. "Well, we'll have to do something when you're here. Something that doesn't include shopping," she added.

She could almost hear the gears in Cassie's head turning. "Let's hang out on Saturday, then. We could watch movies all night, like when we were kids."

Celia got up and wandered to the bedroom. A bath really did sound heavenly. "I can't," she said as she tried to figure out the different knobs on the tub. "I don't have a television, for one thing, and Saturday I have a date."

Almost immediately she knew she'd said the wrong thing, because Cassie started squealing. "A date? Who asked you out? Do I know him? Is he cute? This isn't one of May's set-ups, is it?"

Celia laughed, more at herself than at Cassie. "No, he's not a blind date. I had a flat tire on the expressway this morning and was conveniently rescued by none other than Alex Stanfield."

"No way. What are the odds of running into him with millions of people commuting into the city all at the same time?"

That was a good question, one that she'd have to think about when her brain was back to normal functioning power. Maybe after a good long soak. "Beats me. But he asked me to dinner and Navy Pier after he changed my tire, and we're going on Saturday evening. We can do something the next day if you want."

Without missing a beat, Cassie exclaimed, "I know! I'll help you get ready! I know this great spa --- "

"Cassie, I'm not going to a spa just for a date with Alex. Even though he is awfully hot. I would appreciate some help, though. "

"I can't wait. I'll come over in the morning and we can get started right away. I'm so excited; it'll be like a slumber party!"

"Wait a minute. What's this about a slumber party?"

"You don't think I'll let you go out with a guy like Alex Stanfield and not wait around until you get home, do you?"

Celia had hoped she'd just go back to her own apartment and leave the interrogation for another time. "I guess not," she sighed. "I'll talk to you then."

The rest of the week seemed to fly past her, full of small children clamoring for a different colored crayon and books strewn all over several libraries' floors. She hadn't spent this much time on her hands and knees since she was learning how to walk. By the time she fell asleep Friday night she was glad it was the weekend.

She had been so sure Cassie wouldn't show up until after noon that she was puzzled (and groggy) when someone pounded on her door the next morning at ten. She stumbled down the stairs and looked out the peephole. Cassie stood on her doorstep, talking to a man in a delivery uniform.

Cassie breezed in when Celia opened the door, ushered the man inside without a second thought. "Where do you want this?" she demanded, pointing at a very large box he was struggling to carry inside. The box had a picture of a television on it.

Celia tried to make sense of what was in front of her. "What is this?" she asked. "And what are you doing here? You're hardly ever awake at this hour."

"I'm practicing for college," Cassie replied. "You know, getting ready for all those early morning classes. And this is a house-warming present."

"Excuse me, ladies, but I'm on a tight schedule here. Can I set this down somewhere?" The veins on the man's arms were bulging.

Still dumbfounded, Celia motioned to the stairs in the kitchen. "Up there, I'm afraid. I'm sorry; do you want any help?"

The man looked at her for only a second and then started to chuckle. "There's no way you can help me get this thing up those stairs," he said. "I think it weighs more than you do." He sighed heavily and then hoisted it up higher in his arms. He had a hard time fitting it through the kitchen.

"This is a very . . . green room," Cassie said blandly, looking around. "I hope you're planning on redecorating."

"That was part of the deal." Celia yawned. "I was planning on getting some paint next weekend. You didn't have to buy me a television, you know," she added, following the installation man up the stairs. "I've lived without one perfectly well for five years now. And I thought you were economizing."

"I am; it was on sale." Cassie waved her arm in the air dismissively and followed her. "How were we supposed to watch movies tomorrow without a TV? Besides, I'll need something to do while you're on your hot date tonight. Wow, this is worth the green paint."

Celia grinned at her sister's astonished face when they reached the library. "Wait until you see the bathroom."

She showered while Cassie flipped through channels on the newly-installed appliance, and then they inspected her closet for something appropriate to wear that afternoon.

"I'm not wearing that," Celia said emphatically when Cassie pulled out the black dress she'd worn to Tom's party several weeks earlier. "We'll be at Navy Pier. That's not really a fancy place."

"You're probably right," Cassie said sadly, placing the dress carefully back in its place. "But you looked so great in it. I'm sure Alex would approve."

"That's too bad. How about something a little more casual? Like something with legs."

Several hours later, after a leisurely breakfast that Cassie had thought to bring with her, Celia was dragged back into her bedroom and told to behave. After much debate, and a few near-tantrums on Cassie's part that Celia was almost certain were staged so she could get her own way, they settled on pants ("I can't believe I'm letting you out of the house in a pair of slacks for a first date," Cassie moaned) and a red top that Celia was sure was too tight.

"You look amazing," Cassie said when they were finished. "Alex won't be able to keep his eyes off you."

As long as his hands don't have the same problem, Celia thought. "Thanks for your help. Are you sure you won't be bored while I'm gone?"

Cassie pushed her down the stairs and out the door. "I'll be fine. I might even try to cook myself something for dinner!" She laughed when she saw Celia's panicked expression. "I'm kidding," she said. "Now go or you'll be late. Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" she called as Celia stepped into the hazy afternoon sunshine.

She parked the car not far from Navy Pier and walked toward the fountain, hoping she wasn't too early. To her relief Alex was already there, leaning casually against a park bench. He straightened immediately when he saw her.

His eyes crept down her body and then back up again appreciatively before he took her hand and kissed her on the cheek. "I'm glad to see you," he said in her ear. "I've been looking forward to this all week."

Celia smiled up at him and turned toward the entrance. "Shall we?" she said. Alex placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her purposefully past the tour boats. "Where are we going?" she asked, watching a mother try to convince her small son to ride the Ferris wheel. "I thought we were just going to walk around and take in the sights."

"We are, after we get cultured. I thought we could take in a little _Taming of the Shrew_. The Chicago Shakespeare Theatre is just down here, and they're doing scenes from several of the plays."

Celia glanced at him. "Am I Kate before or after the taming?"

Alex smiled at her, his eyes flashing. "I'd say you were a very intriguing mix of the two. I could see myself enjoying a little taming."

Celia looked away quickly, starting to feel uncomfortable. "I'm just kidding," Alex said a second later, snaking his arm around her waist. "You just look very tantalizing in that shirt. I highly approve of the choice."

She smiled weakly at him. She was going to kill Cassie when she got home that evening. When they sat down in the outdoor theatre she made sure they weren't touching.

She relaxed a little when the actors started their scenes. They weren't performing the entire play, she realized, but were instead doing portions of two scenes at the same time. It was so interesting to watch a post-taming Kate chastise her previous self that she fell into the spell of the words and the ideas, only coming out of her trance when the actors took their bows.

"That was amazing, Tom," she said before turning her head to look at the man next to her.

Her body jerked when she realized she had said the wrong name, but Alex didn't seem to notice. He was looking at something outside the theatre and only noticed her when she stood to leave.

"Oh, are we done? I'm afraid Shakespeare isn't one of my strengths." He smiled at her disarmingly. "Did you enjoy the performance?"

As they wandered through the shops, Alex's arm around her waist once more, Celia wondered why she'd thought Tom was with her. It must be because he's been around so much recently, she decided. Not because I was wishing he was here, or missing his literary analysis. She thought back to all their debates in high school, when Tom would inevitably have a differing opinion on whatever they were reading in English class. She wondered why he'd chosen journalism instead of writing, or editing.

Alex shook her gently. "Celia? Are you still here?"

She blinked and realized that he'd probably been talking to her for some time. "I'm sorry," she said, flustered. "I must have been wool-gathering. What did you say again?"

A flash of annoyance crossed his face but was gone so quickly she wasn't sure she'd seen it. "That's fine," he said. "I was just wondering if you were ready for dinner yet. Our reservation's in half an hour."

"That sounds great," she agreed. She was going to have to try to pay more attention in the future. The last thing she wanted on this date was the shadow of Tom lurking over her shoulder.

It was dark when they finally finished their meal and were preparing to leave the restaurant. "Have you seen the holy cow yet?" she asked Alex.

"The what?"

Celia laughed. "About ten years ago the city of Chicago commissioned a bunch of fiberglass cow statues and displayed them along Michigan Avenue. They called it the 'Cows on Parade,' and someone designed one to look like Harry Caray. It has his huge glasses and is full of holes – you know, for his famous saying."

Alex gave her a blank stare.

"Oh, come on. 'It might be, it could be, it is! Holy cow!' Didn't you watch baseball when you were a kid?"

Alex shook his head. "Not really, unless I wanted to catch a White Sox game."

Celia clapped her hand over his mouth. "You can't say things like that in here!" she hissed. She pulled him toward the grand staircase and stopped him right in front of the cow. "See? It's a holy cow."

Alex stared at the statue in front of him and started to laugh. "You've got to be kidding."

"No, _you've_ got to be kidding. Why didn't you tell me you were a Sox fan?"

Alex looked at her strangely. "I didn't really think it would be a problem. Don't tell me you won't go out with me again just because of some silly baseball rivalry."

"It's not silly." Celia smiled at him, wondering if he was for real. Maybe there was more to Alex than she had originally thought. "Are you asking me out again?"

"I might be, if you promise not to bite my head off anymore."

She considered him for a moment. He really was very handsome, and he could be quite charming when he wanted to. "I could try," she said. "But keep the Cubs out of it."

They caught a cab back to Alex's car. "Do you mind?" he asked when he caught her puzzled expression. "This way we can see the Navy Pier fireworks together."

She settled back into the soft leather of the car. "This is nice," she said as he started the engine. "What kind of car is it?"

"An Audi," he said. "Do you like it?"

Why does that ring a bell? she wondered, and then shrugged off the thought. She'd probably seen a commercial that morning for the automaker. "I suppose. I've never been all that concerned about cars, unless they stop working. I'm parked two blocks south of here."

Alex parked behind her they sat on the trunk to watch the fireworks in the sky above. It felt nice to sit by him like this, Celia decided. As long as he kept his inane comments to himself, that is.

"Did you ever get a hold of your friend?" Alex's voice broke into her thoughts.

"What friend?"

"The guy you were talking to when I was fixing your tire the first time."

Celia thought back. "Oh, you mean on Mackinac Island? Yeah, I flew back to see him and his wife last weekend. He's in the hospital."

Alex looked up at the sky. "Is he okay?"

Celia shrugged. "He's coming home tomorrow, so he must be. He lost a lot of blood but the doctors say his shoulder should heal well."

There was a long silence, broken only by the booming of the fireworks above them. "What happened to his shoulder?" Alex finally asked, his tone casual.

Celia looked at him in surprise. He was awfully concerned about a man he'd never met before. "He was shot at work last Saturday."

"That's awful. Do they have any leads?"

She cocked her head, trying to see him better in the darkness. "No," she said slowly. "At least, I don't think so. I haven't talked to the police."

"Of course not." She could see the flash of his teeth when he smiled at her. "I know all these questions must sound crazy. You just seemed concerned when you were talking to him before, and he must be a good friend if he's helping you with something at work."

"Oh, right. It's very nice of you to ask about him." Celia looked up and was caught by the expression in his eyes when they were illuminated by the lights shooting across the sky. She didn't look away.

"I try to be nice once in a while," Alex murmured. He put his hand on the back of her head and slowly drew her toward him.

When Cassie asked her later that night, Celia didn't know why she'd moved her head so that his lips fell on her cheek instead of her lips. She just knew that kissing Alex Stanfield – at least, at that moment – was not something she wanted to do.

Alex just chuckled softly. "Maybe I'll be luckier next time," he said.

"I should probably be going."

"At least let me walk you to your car. It's not like it's very far away." He offered her his arm and escorted her around the Audi to her door. "I had a wonderful time," he said, his free hand covering hers. "If I called you later on this week would you be willing to see me again?"

How can one man be so charming, and I don't want to kiss him? Celia wondered distractedly. "Of course. I had a wonderful night. Thank you so much for asking me."

He leaned in again, this time kissing her cheek on purpose. "I'll see you soon, Celia Fuller. You can count on it."

***

Celia and Cassie had a wonderful weekend with, to Celia's great relief, very little shopping. She saw her out the front door Monday morning with promises to meet again the next day for dinner before Cassie headed back to Michael and Michigan.

When she got to the library that morning she picked up the newspaper that was lying on the front desk. She sat at the table in the back room, surrounded by books that needed to be repaired, and steeled herself to read Tom's column. She had avoided it for an entire week, but for some reason, after her date with Alex, she couldn't hold out any longer.

Her eyes fell on his byline, but there was very little following it:

_Thomas Elliot is away on personal business. His column will resume in two weeks' time. Please check back then._

Many, many thanks for all your reviews! I love reading your responses. And, as always, kudos to Linnea for her comments and insights into tire replacement. As always, she was right. Review away, and maybe I'll be more on the ball this week and update faster. You never know.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

After two days of chasing children and reshelving the books they had thrown on the ground, Celia was not in the mood to go out to dinner. Still, she had promised Cassie she would, so after work on Tuesday she ran into the apartment long enough to retouch her makeup and change clothes and then headed off to meet her sister.

Cassie was waiting for her in the restaurant's entrance. She pulled her sister aside when Celia opened the door. "I hope you don't mind," she whispered, "but Claudia's coming."

Celia raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Claudia? Whatever for?"

Obviously uncomfortable, Cassie's eyes slid away. "Well, I ran over to Dad's this afternoon to see how everyone was doing. When I mentioned that we were having dinner together Ashley convinced Claudia that this would be a good sisterly sort of thing to do."

Celia looked at her blankly. "Since when has Claudia been interested in being a good sister?"

Shrugging, Cassie tugged her toward the bar. They sat at a table with a decent view of the front door. "I guess Claudia picked up a self-help book by mistake –" she laughed at the incredulous expression on Celia's face – "and it said that the best way to get a family of your own is to be a good member of the one you already have. So she's trying out her new strategy on us."

Celia blinked. "I didn't know Claudia wanted a family."

"Well, she doesn't, exactly. She wants a husband. I guess the men she meets in the shops downtown during the day are either married or gay, and even Claudia knows that won't work."

Celia smiled at the waiter who brought her a glass of water and drank half of it at once. Summers in Chicago could be brutal, and it was hot outside. "Why's Ashley helping her?"

"You can ask her yourself. Here they are." Celia looked up to see Claudia flounce into the restaurant, followed by Ashley. They seemed uncomfortable, as though they didn't know how to behave among ordinary people.

"What's she doing here?" Celia asked quietly, jerking her head in Ashley's direction. "I would have thought she'd stay behind so she could seduce Henry in peace."

"Shh." They watched as Claudia and Ashley flinched when the hostess asked for their names. Hiding a smirk, Cassie got up and walked toward them. "I'm glad you're here," she said. Celia was amazed at how sincere her sister's voice sounded.

Once they were seated Claudia opened her purse and pulled out a book. "Look what it says here," she said to Ashley, flipping it to a well-worn page. "It says you have to look for men outside your comfort zone if you want to meet someone new. Do you think this place counts?" From the tone of her voice Celia knew Claudia would rather fall into the Chicago River on St. Patrick's Day than find a potential boyfriend at Chili's.

Ashley glanced around the room, her nose wrinkled in distaste. "I'd say so," she agreed. "Maybe we should go to the mall after dinner. That would be the real test."

"The mall!" Claudia shrieked. "I can't go to the mall. What if someone saw me? They might think I was shopping at --" her voice lowered to a whisper – "the Gap."

Ashley looked at her pityingly. "You won't know anyone at the mall, Claudia. None of your friends would dare set foot in one."

"You're right." Claudia sagged back in her seat. "I guess it's worth a try."

Celia grabbed the book and turned it over, wondering how her own, nearly illiterate sister had come to possess a book. It seemed to have been heavily read. Flipping it open, she saw a familiar stamp on the back cover. "Claudia, have you been to the library?"

Claudia shuddered. "I certainly hope not."

"But this book – " Cassie took it out of her hands and turned it over, putting a price tag from a used-book store in plain view. "Oh, I see. Never mind."

"For your information, little sister, I can read. I was going through some things in one of the spare rooms in the new house and found it in a closet."

"Was there a single woman living there before you and Henry moved in?"

Claudia nodded. "There was," she said cheerfully. "She was killed by some weirdo she met in a used-book store."

Celia cleared her throat, trying not to point out the irony of the situation. "What's this about finding a man?" she asked, handing the book back. "I thought you'd decided you didn't want the bother of dating."

Claudia flicked an invisible piece of lint off her skirt and fixed her sister with a disdainful look. "I changed my mind," she said as if daring Celia to find fault with that. "Ashley thinks having a boyfriend will help my self-esteem issues."

Cassie snorted indelicately next to Celia, who kicked her under the table. "How is a boyfriend supposed to help you with your self-esteem?" she asked, trying to divert Claudia's attention from the noises Cassie was making.

"When I move in with him I'll redecorate his apartment and he'll realize how empty his life was before he met me."

Celia didn't dare look at Cassie. "I see," she said slowly, trying to keep the grin from her face. "I guess I've been dating the wrong men then."

Ashley patted her hand. "You probably have," she said sweetly. "Are you still seeing that newspaper man? I'm sure he's all wrong for you."

Celia looked at her in shock. "How do you know – "

Ashley waved her arm dismissively. "I know all about him," she said. "Alex told me he saw the two of you together on vacation."

It was the way she said it – as though Alex was the fount of all information – that made Celia's eyes narrow. "I didn't know you were acquainted with Alex," she said.

Ashley's eyes grew wide. "I don't," she said hastily. "That guy that May knows talked about you when he came over to see us last week. Wasn't his name Alex?" she asked, turning to Claudia. "I could have sworn that was what he said."

Claudia's eyes grew distant. "Now _that's_ the kind of man I wouldn't mind meeting," she said dreamily. "All that hard muscle and fancy clothing. I wonder what kind of women he dates."

"Ones that have a brain," Cassie muttered under her breath. Celia elbowed her in the side, but Cassie would not be deterred. "You can ask Celia," she went on. "She went out with him this weekend."

Celia glared at her. "I think I'm ready to order," she said. "Have you decided what you want to eat, Claudia?"

"Yes, how _was_ your date?" Ashley gaze was fixed on the menu in front of her, but Celia could sense an undercurrent of irritation in her tone. "Did the famous Alex Stanfield show you a good time?"

Celia stared at her, her mouth hanging open. "How do you know Alex's last name?"

Ashley didn't move for a second. Leaning over, Celia placed her hand on the menu and held it firmly to the table. "Ashley, do you and Alex know each other?"

Ashley wrenched the menu from under Celia's fingers and laid it on the end of the table. "I'm sure May said his name once or twice. She talks about you all the time, and it only makes sense that his name would occasionally come into the conversation. So how was your date? Did you have fun?"

Celia looked at her for a long time before replying. There had to be more to the story than that; she'd just have to figure it out. "I had a lovely time," she said finally, deciding the woman wasn't worth the effort it would take to be offended by her earlier insinuation. "Alex was fun to hang out with." For the first time since high school she wished she drank. She was pretty sure she could use some hard liquor – even though she'd never touched the stuff before.

Ashley dropped the subject, and after an hour of listening to her advise Claudia about catching the right sort of man (necessarily rich, and definitely handsome), Celia had had enough. Without a glance at Cassie she declined their invitation to go to the mall, claiming she needed to get ready for work the next day. When she was finally alone in her car she breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Maybe Claudia was adopted, she thought. There's really no other way to explain how we can be sisters. There was Henry, though. Maybe Anne had adopted them both at the same time.

When she got home she headed straight upstairs, throwing her bag and keys on the desk next to the computer. Once she was in her pajamas she wandered back into the library and sank onto the couch. Her phone beeped at her feet where it had fallen, and she stared at it for a moment, hoping it wasn't Cassie calling to chew her out for leaving her alone with Claudia and Ashley. She finally picked it up and listened to the message, flipping through channels on her very economical (Cassie-style) television.

"Hi, Celia. This is Alex. I hope I'm not calling at a bad time. I was wondering if you wanted to have dinner with me on Friday night. Let me know."

Surprised, Celia listened to the message twice. She hadn't thought Alex would actually call her back, especially after she'd avoided his kiss. She called him back, wondering if she should ask him about Ashley.

He answered on the first ring. "Hello, Cecilia Fuller."

Celia leaned back and relaxed into the cushions. "Hello yourself. I'm sorry I missed your call earlier."

"You weren't out with another man, were you?"

A jealous Alex was cute, even if he was pretending. "No, I was with the girls. It was quite the occasion."

Alex chuckled. "I bet it was. Listen, are you available Friday night? I thought we could go to Gino's East, out by where you live."

Celia hesitated long enough for Alex to clear his throat. "You aren't still mad about the White Sox thing, are you?" He sounded irritated.

"No, no. Sure, I'll go. I won't be home until six or so; would you like me to meet you there?"

"Can I come pick you up instead? That way I won't have to worry about saving any more of your tires."

He had a point. "Sure. I can be ready by seven."

"I'll be there. And, Celia?"

"Yes?"

"I'm really looking forward to seeing you again."

***

Early the next morning Celia took Cassie to the airport. When she popped open the trunk and hauled Cassie's suitcase over to the sidewalk, Cassie opened it up and took out a package.

"I got this for you yesterday," she said when Celia gave her a confused look.

"It's not going to bite me, is it?" She held the edges with her fingertips, worried that her sister might want revenge for abandoning her the night before.

"I thought about it," Cassie admitted, "but then I saw this in the window. It had your name written all over it."

"Claudia let you buy something at the mall?"

"Once I told her it was for you she didn't mind."

That figures, Celia thought, rolling her eyes. She ripped the paper and caught something silky and blue before it fell onto the ground. "It's beautiful," she said, holding the dress up. It shimmered in the early morning sunlight. She tore her gaze from the smooth material in her hand and looked Cassie straight in the eye. "You have to stop buying me clothes," she said with finality. "I appreciate it – you have quite a talent for making me look better than I actually do – but this has got to be the last of it. Promise me."

Cassie pulled a face. "But I like buying you clothes. It makes me feel like I'm filling the void in your closet."

"Cassie . . . "

She sighed, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "Fine," she agreed. "No more clothes."

Celia looked at the dress again. It really was beautiful. "I don't know when I'll have a chance to wear this."

"You can when you go out with Alex again."

Celia looked at her sister. "Either you're a mind reader or you know more about my life than I do. How did you know I was going to dinner with him this Friday?"

Cassie grinned. "I didn't," she said. "But I figured he'd call you again. I'd watch out, though; he doesn't seem the type to take 'no' for an answer twice. You might have to kiss him this time." She hugged Celia quickly and then pulled her suitcase through the airport doors. "Think of me when you wear that!" she called before the doors slid shut behind her.

Shaking her head, Celia smiled as she merged into the traffic circling O'Hare. Cassie really needs a lesson on saving money, she thought to herself ruefully. Maybe she should follow Scott's example and major in finance.

She was still laughing to herself when she sat in the library an hour later. She didn't have to be in the children's section for another twenty minutes, so she sat at a table and tried to figure out what kinds of activities to do at the next story time. She stuck her hand into her bag in search of the banana she'd thrown in there that morning, and felt her phone vibrate. When she pulled it out she had a text from Locke, sent just a few minutes before.

_Hey, Celia._ _Everything's fine here. How was your date? Cassie told us you were seeing the infamous Alex again. Hope he didn't pop another tire for you. Write back when you want a break from the real world._

Celia smiled. She hadn't spoken with Locke since before she had seen Alex.

_The date was fine, if you can discount the fact that he follows the White Sox. I'm starting to doubt my judgment._ She paused, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. _How's Tom? I heard he was on hiatus for a few weeks._

Locke's response came back almost immediately. _He's at the house on the island. I think he wanted to give Lauren some space._

Celia closed her eyes. Did she really want to know? _Are they still dating?_

_Do you care?_

_Not really, _Celia typed fiercely, ashamed of herself for asking._ How's she doing, by the way?_

_You're lying, but she's great. The doctor says she should be able to go back to Chicago by the end of next week or maybe the beginning of the following._

That was when Tom was scheduled to resume his columns. _I'm glad,_ she wrote back. _Give everyone my love. I've got to get back to work._

It took until halfway through "King Bidgood's in the Bathtub" before she realized that she still didn't know if Tom was dating Lauren or why he wasn't writing his columns.

***

Things were quiet without Cassie around, and by Thursday evening Celia had to admit to herself that she was bored. Her hand was halfway to her phone when it rang.

"Celia, what are you doing tonight?"

She smiled at the sound of Jen's voice. Scott had come home from the hospital a few days before, and Jen hadn't been back to work yet. "Nothing," she admitted. "Do you already need an excuse to get out of the house?"

Jen laughed. "No, things have been hectic enough around here lately. The detective assigned to Scott's case is over, and he was wondering if he could ask you a few questions."

"Sure," Celia said slowly. "I don't think I'll be any help, though."

"That's what I told him, but he wants to talk to you anyway. How soon can you be here?"

The drive to Jen's apartment only took a few minutes and Jen opened the door before Celia had a chance to knock. "Thanks for coming so quickly," Jen said before hugging her friend.

Celia smiled at her and walked into the family room. Scott was resting on the couch, his arm supported by a pile of pillows, and sitting across from him was a very official-looking man who stood when they entered.

"I'm Detective John Patterson," he said, shaking Celia's hand. "Thank you for coming. I believe Ms. Tennant told you I had some questions."

Jen rolled her eyes at his formality but kept quiet and sat on the floor between Scott's knees. He ran his free hand through her hair.

Celia hovered in the doorway, not sure what to do. Jen cocked her head at the loveseat and Celia sat next to the detective, looking at him uncertainly.

"I understand Mr. Tennant was working on some personal business for your family at the time of the attack," he started, looking at a pad of paper covered in notes. "Why did you ask him to become involved?"

Celia's voice was steady as she answered. "My father recently sold his house because there was no money left to maintain it," she explained. It wasn't as painful to recount Henry's profligacy with the family's money as she expected. "It seemed strange to me that he and my sister could go through that much money so quickly, and I asked Scott to look over his finances to see if he could spot any irregularities."

Detective Patterson nodded and wrote as she spoke. "Does your father know about this?"

Celia paused briefly before responding. "No, he doesn't."

He looked up. "Why didn't you tell him?"

She sighed quietly. "Henry is . . . mostly unaware of many things normal people pay attention to," she said slowly. "Things like paying bills, or balancing the checkbook, or keeping track of his children. If there was nothing to find it didn't seem necessary to trouble him with explanations that wouldn't make any sense to him anyway."

"I see. Did you have the legal right to take these steps?"

"Her name's on all the accounts involved." Scott spoke irritably, as though he'd answered this question too many times already. "I wouldn't have agreed if it wasn't legal."

Detective Patterson scribbled something on his pad of paper. "And did you find anything unusual?"

"I don't know. Scott gave me a list of all Henry's purchases a few weeks ago, but I recently moved and haven't had time to find it again. There were a few things that didn't make any sense, though."

His eyes lit up. "Like what?"

"Well, I'm pretty sure neither he nor my sister has been to Tahiti, and I know he didn't own an Audi. I remember looking through the auctioneer's notes, and there wasn't one listed." Celia's voice trailed off. Didn't Alex have an Audi? That was a strange coincidence. Lots of people owned Audis, didn't they?

"Could you find that list and get me a copy? It might help our investigation."

Celia shrugged. "Sure, if you think it would do you any good. Can't you get the one Scott had at work?"

"We can't find it."

She looked at Scott, her eyebrows raised almost halfway to her hairline. "I thought you were looking over it when you were shot."

Scott grinned sheepishly. "I was, but a lot of stuff fell off my desk when I passed out and some of it got covered in blood. It could have been thrown away."

Celia's eyes fell on the detective. "I thought the police were supposed to be careful at a crime scene," she said, trying not to sound too accusing. "Shouldn't that have been saved?"

"We're doing the best we can, Ms. Fuller." He gave her a business card and stood up to leave. "Please call me when you find those lists. And let me know if you think of anything that might be helpful. Good night, ma'am." He nodded at Jen and let himself out the front door.

The three of them stared at each other until they heard his car door slam outside. Then they started laughing.

"He was terribly formal," Celia finally said when she'd caught her breath.

Jen wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "Wasn't he? I guess that's good," she added, looking at her husband. "Maybe a serious guy will focus on finding the jerk that did this and we can all sleep a little easier."

Celia stood and patted her on the head. "I think you'd better get him to bed. He's almost asleep on the couch."

Jen laughed softly. "I appreciate your help, Celia," she told her. "I should be back at work on Monday; make sure Sarah doesn't give my job away before then."

Celia smiled. "I'll do my best," she promised.

***

On her way home from work the next day Celia thought about what Detective Patterson had asked her. Was there a connection between her father's money and Scott's would-be assassin? The detective certainly seemed to think it was possible. But very few people even knew Scott was investigating Henry's affairs. She hadn't even told Cassie. Celia rubbed her face with one hand and tried to focus on the road in front of her.

Traffic was heavy with cars filled with people getting out of the city for the weekend, and pretty soon she was reduced to a crawl. Glancing at the clock on the dashboard, Celia groaned. She only had half an hour to make it home, shower and change for dinner before Alex arrived. And she still had five miles to go until her exit. Her hand was almost on the phone to call him when it buzzed with an incoming text from May.

_Don't forget the annual garden party next Thursday. Bring a date!_

Celia groaned. She'd successfully avoided the dreaded garden party during her college years, refusing to come home during the summers she was in Michigan. It didn't seem like she had any way out of it this year, unless she faked a highly contagious disease.

The parties in and of themselves weren't all that bad; the food was always delicious, the band lively (if a little old) and May spared no expense decorating the grounds of her home for her friends. It was the company Celia detested. Each of May's many friends always seemed to have her on their radar, cornering her at some point during the evening in an attempt to "catch up on old times." The only time she saw most of these women was at this wretched party, and the last thing she wanted to do was hear about their pets' ailments – or worse, their own. Then, inevitably, the conversation would turn to her, all of them wanting to know (with varying levels of tact) why she wasn't dating anyone seriously. Now that she had been graduated from college, she knew, the question would change to why she wasn't married yet. I should make something up, she decided. Like that I _do_ have a husband, but he has leprosy and can't go out in public or all my friends will contract the disease. Or that I'm a Democrat. May's conservative friends may never speak to me again, she thought in amusement. Maybe that's worth a try.

When she finally pulled up to her apartment with five minutes to spare Celia hurtled up the stairs and into her bedroom. She glanced at the dress Cassie had given her and shook her head. It was a bit fancy for a pizza restaurant. She flew around the room, brushing her hair and re-applying makeup, finally sitting on the couch in the library only ten minutes past seven. It's good that he's not right on time, she thought.

An hour and a half later, Celia wasn't feeling so agreeable. No one had answered when she'd called his number, and she had to keep reminding herself of the story she'd heard in college about the girl who'd been stood up for a date only to find out later, after she'd called him all sorts of names on his answering machine, that the gentleman in question had been in a car accident and was in traction in the hospital. The story didn't help her mood as much as it should have.

The doorbell finally rang at nine o'clock, and Celia took her time answering it. She had changed into jeans and a t-shirt and had pulled her hair back into a ponytail. She cracked the door open only as far as the security chain allowed and looked at Alex through the crack. "Yes?"

Alex stood there, a white rose in his hand and an apologetic expression on his face. He looked rumpled and mussed, like he had just gotten out of bed. "I'm sorry I'm late," he said without looking sorry at all.

Celia just glared at him.

Seeming to sense there needed to be more explanation, Alex continued talking. "I had a bit of an emergency at home and couldn't get away until just a little while ago."

She still didn't say anything.

"Can I at least come in so I can see more of you than just your nose?"

Celia sighed and opened the door all the way. She stood in the doorway and gazed at him. "May's set me up with some interesting dates before," she said after he'd started to fidget. "But never with someone so blatantly rude."

Alex swallowed and looked at her nervously. "Are you going to tell me to get lost?"

Celia shrugged. "I might. Can you think of any reason why I shouldn't?"

"Let me come in and I'll explain."

She stepped aside and watched as he stepped into her ridiculously green sitting room. He glanced around before handing her the flower he was holding. "This is an interesting color," he commented, touching the wall with one finger.

"I thought you were going to explain."

Alex's head snapped around, his face a mask of repentance. "I really am sorry," he said softly. "I know I should have called, but things got pretty intense and before I knew it I was already an hour late."

"So instead of picking up the phone you decided that since you were already late, a few more hours wouldn't make any difference?"

Alex half-smiled. "Well, the phone got knocked under the bed and it took me a while to find it. Come on, let's go. I'm sure you're hungry."

Celia stared at him for a long time, wondering if she should let him have his way. He certainly seemed remorseful. He gazed back at her, regret rolling off him in waves. "Fine," she finally sighed when her stomach growled loudly into the silence. "But you owe me one."

His grin could have charmed the flowers into an early bloom. "Thank you," he said, leaning over to kiss her cheek. "Now come on, let's go. I've worked up quite an appetite."

It didn't take them long to get to Gino's but all the way there Celia couldn't help but look at his car. She wondered how old it was. "When did you get this car?" she asked, trying to sound innocent.

"Six months ago. Why? Do you want one too?"

Celia laughed. "No, I'm afraid a car like this is out of my price range." Six months ago, she mused. She was going to have to find that list Scott had given her when she got home. There were too many coincidences where Alex Stanfield was concerned.

The restaurant was packed, but Alex somehow convinced the hostess to get them a table after only a ten minute wait. He winked at Celia when she asked him how he had done it.

"I have a certain power over women," he said confidently. "She couldn't say no."

Celia's eyebrows rose. Did he really believe that? "I wouldn't count on that power too much. I'm very good at saying no." She turned to the wall next to their table, pretending to read some of the white-out inscriptions left by previous diners. "I didn't bring anything to write with," she said, tracing a white heart with several initials inscribed on it. "I always thought this was a great idea. Tell your customers they can legally put graffiti all over your restaurant, and when there's no more space, paint over the old stuff and let them start all over again. It makes you wonder how many times one person could immortalize himself."

Alex watched her, smiling indulgently. He pulled a white-out pen from his pocket and handed it to her with a flourish. "And what would you write?" he asked, his fingers trailing down to her wrist.

Celia pulled her hand away a little more forcefully than she had intended. Alex was an extremely handsome, charming man, but that didn't mean he should be allowed to do whatever he wanted. "I don't know," she said, looking down at the table. "Do you have any suggestions?"

"I suppose my initials in a heart is out of the question."

Fortunately for Alex their server appeared with their pizza at that point, saving Celia from saying something rude. She wondered what kind of person he really was. At times he could he flirtatious and charming; other times he was self-absorbed and thoughtless. Which was the true Alex Stanfield? There were too many aspects of his character to decide.

Alex stopped talking and looked at her strangely. "Are you zoning out on me again? I must be very poor company if you can't keep your mind on what I'm saying."

Celia felt her cheeks warm. "I was paying attention," she said half-heartedly.

He cocked his head to one side. "Then what were we talking about?"

_We_ weren't talking about anything, Celia thought. "You were saying how good Chicago-style pizza is." She focused on her plate and only glanced at him when he started laughing.

"You're right," he said. "I don't know how, but you're right. Now what were you really thinking about while I blathered on about our dinner?"

Knowing she couldn't tell him she was starting to wonder if he had split personalities, she said the first thing that came to her mind. "I was thinking about May's garden party next week."

Alex dropped his crust on his plate and wiped his fingers on his napkin. "Did she trick you into accepting an invitation? I'm glad it's you and not me; the last time I went a bunch of little old ladies followed me around asking questions about my sexual orientation. They seemed to think that since I wasn't married I must be gay."

"I bet that was fun for you."

Alex grimaced. "You have no idea."

Oh, I bet I do, Celia thought. All of a sudden a wicked idea came to her. "You know, you should come with me. It's next Thursday. I know May would be thrilled to see us together."

It was funny to watch him open and close his mouth. It reminded her of a fish. "I'm busy that day," he finally managed.

"It's in the evening."

His mouth resumed its flapping motion. "I – I – "

"You do owe me for being two hours late," she pointed out. She was beginning to enjoy torturing him a little. "What's the big deal? If you come with me you prove to all those old biddies that you're straight, you make my aunt happy, and you don't have to go to another one of her things for the next ten years. You can't lose."

"Will anyone else from your family be there?"

That was an odd question. "Henry and Claudia, certainly. They love this sort of thing. It gives them a chance to show off their finery. Cassie, on the other hand, is still in Michigan and has an excuse not to show."

"So Ashley will probably come," Alex mused, more to himself than to her.

"Ashley Smithwurte? I didn't know you were friends with her." Celia watched him closely, her conversation with Ashley zipping through her brain. Was he going to confess something, or was she going to have to pry it out of him?

"We're not," Alex said quickly. "I met her when I visited your aunt a few weeks back. She's a very interesting girl."

"You can say that again," Celia muttered. "She seemed to know you better than that when I talked with her at Chili's the other night."

He quickly smoothed over the smug look that had crossed his face. "She doesn't," he said shortly. "I met her at your dad's, and was just wondering if she went to things like this."

Celia shook her head. She had the feeling no one was being particularly honest. "She'll probably come," she said, looking away from Alex. "If Henry will be there, so will Ashley."

Celia almost didn't catch his self-satisfied expression. "I'll come, but only if you agree to go somewhere more formal with me next weekend. I have a theory that you look stunning all dressed up."

Celia thought quickly. If Alex was lying to her about Ashley, and she was pretty sure he was, who knew what else he was fibbing about? Maybe she'd better play it safe and see how things went on Thursday.

She tried to shug nonchalantly. "We'll see. I'll let you know one way or the other." She glanced up in time to catch his scowl. "Don't be such a baby," she scolded lightly. "I'll meet you at May's at seven. And I would advise you to be on time. She has even less patience for tardiness than I do."

***

Alex was smart enough to kiss her on the cheek when he dropped her off in front of her building later that evening. "Thanks for coming with me," he said. "And, again, I'm terribly sorry I was so late. I'm glad you're so forgiving."

Celia tried to smile at him. "Have a good weekend," she threw over her shoulder as she climbed the stairs. She waited inside until she could hear the sound of his engine fading as he drove away.

She woke up early the next morning determined to find the inventory Scott had made. It took her hardly any time to go through her tiny downstairs, and she even moved the love seat in the sitting room, although she was relatively sure it couldn't be there since she hadn't sat on it yet. There was no sign of the list.

The boxes of books stacked in the library took a while longer to unpack, even though she didn't bother alphabetizing them. She made a mental note to rearrange them the following week and took the empty boxes outside to the recycling bins. The file was nowhere to be seen.

After she got back upstairs she sat on her bed and stared at the two last boxes she'd pulled from her closet. They had been the ones she'd kept under the bed in Cassie's apartment, and if those lists were anywhere in her home they'd be there. Remembering that they contained pictures – and memories – from her high school days, she closed her eyes and opened the one closest to her.

The picture she'd found before lay on top of the pile of papers inside, and she set it resolutely aside. Underneath were letters filled with an unmistakable scrawl, all signed at the bottom with a simple "TE." She smiled faintly as she looked at them. Maybe it wasn't so surprising, after all, that Tom had become a columnist. He had faithfully written her notes – letters, really – every three days and had remained on his self-set deadline their last two years in school. He'd quoted Shakespeare even back then, often referring to them as characters from the play _Much Ado About Nothing_, comparing her to Hero. She hadn't really agreed with that, arguing that if she had to be a Shakespearean heroine she'd much prefer to be Beatrice. Tom had laughed and said she was too sweet to play the prickly protagonist.

The other box contained a mixture of things she'd kept in college: her marked-up copy of her senior thesis, tickets to football games, Cassie's wedding picture (taken outside City Hall; Henry had been less than pleased). When the box was empty and all the contents strewn about her on the floor, she had to admit to herself that that blasted list was nowhere to be found. The only place left to look was at Cassie's, so she grabbed her keys and marched out the front door.

Half an hour later she stood in Cassie's apartment, wondering why she was so determined to get those files back. She didn't really want to go over Henry's purchase history and watch on paper as he slowly but surely sent their family into financial ruin. It had been hard enough to sit back and watch as all their possessions had been sold to strangers; how could this possibly be any better?

She shook her head resolutely and walked down the empty hallway toward the spare bedroom. Everything was just as she had left it; she doubted Cassie had stepped foot in the room before she had departed for Michigan again. Celia had noticed on her way past the kitchen, though, that Cassie hadn't been brave enough to attempt cooking again, as menus from nearby cafes littered the kitchen counter.

Celia stood still and closed her eyes, trying to remember the evening Scott and Jen had given her the printout. She'd come back from the party at Tom's and had sat at the kitchen table, talking to them. He'd given her a folder and she'd gone into the bedroom to get the list from the auction. She'd taken Scott's file with her, she remembered. And two days later he'd sent back her copy from the house. What had she done with them?

She opened and closed drawers on the dresser and was looking in the bottom one when she saw something underneath the chest of drawers. She lay on her stomach and stuck her hand back as far as it could go between the thick carpet and the bottom of the drawer, scraping her hand in the process. Her hand brushed against something that was definitely not carpet, and when she pulled her arm out she was clutching not one but two file folders.

She sat up on the floor and stared at them for several minutes, wondering if she held the key to the whole mess in her hands. I wish Henry had never had any money in the first place, she thought. Life would have been so much easier. May wouldn't have tried to convince me to dump Tom, Claudia might be a little more normal, Ashley wouldn't have given us a second look, and I wouldn't be here right now, playing detective for something I have no control over. She shook her head again. There was no use wondering what could have been, she told herself sternly. The only thing you can do now is move forward and do the best you can.

She called Jen from the kitchen as she unloaded Cassie's dishwasher. Cassie had left the owner's manual next to the sink; Celia had wondered how she'd managed to turn it on without either breaking it or sending floods of soapy water all over the tiled floor. It took a long time for Jen to answer, and her "hello?" was flustered.

"Jen, it's Celia. Is everything okay?"

Jen let out an explosive breath. "If I have to fetch one more thing for that wimpy husband of mine I think I'll scream."

Celia chuckled. "It sounds like you need to get out of the house. Why don't you come over to my place after dinner? I'd offer to make you something to eat but I'm pretty sure Scott is useless in the kitchen with only one arm."

"He's useless with two," Jen muttered. "I'll be there by eight."

That evening Celia sat in her library, Beethoven's Sixth Symphony floating from the CD player in her room. She stared at the two folders on the coffee table, wondering if she had the strength to look at them. She'd just leaned over to pick one up when Jen knocked on the door.

Jen walked in and stood in the middle of the room. She turned around several times, finally stopping to look at Celia like she thought her friend had lost her mind. "I can't believe I recommended this place," she said, her hands on her hips. "It has to be bigger than this. And with less barf on the walls."

Celia laughed. That seemed to be a common first reaction. She tugged Jen through the kitchen and up the stairs. "It is," she promised. "Just wait."

Jen was appropriately awed by the upstairs. "I hardly ever go down there unless I have to eat," Celia confided. "I've considered putting a hot plate and a little refrigerator up here so I don't have to stare at all those green walls. Next weekend I'm painting."

"Thank goodness." Jen flopped down on the couch and looked at the folders in front of her. "What's this?"

Celia grimaced. "I spent all day looking for those pieces of paper," she said. "They're the lists from the auction and your husband. I haven't been brave enough to compare them yet."

Jen pulled herself into a sitting position and grabbed them. "Well, there's no time like the present," she declared. "Let's see what we have."

An hour later they had pulled out markers and highlighted everything that Celia thought was a bogus purchase. Surprisingly enough, Henry hadn't bought all that much over the past year – at least, not that she knew of. "I know he hasn't been on a cruise, and there have been no new cars since he totaled the Mercedes and had to replace it two years ago. The Audi threw me, though, because he might have gotten it for Claudia."

Jen flipped through the pages in front of her. "No Audi was sold, and there wasn't one left at the end of the auction. Who do you think purchased it?"

"I don't know," Celia said slowly. "Wait. When did Henry -- or someone else -- buy it?"

"About six months ago. Why?"

The conversation with Alex the night before ran through Celia's mind. She had asked him when he got the car, and he'd responded immediately, "_Six months ago. Why? Do you want one too?_" as though it was somehow in his power to get her a fancy car. Surely that was just coincidence . . .

"What's going through your head?" Jen was looking at her strangely.

"Nothing. Well, I've been seeing this guy and – "

"Wait a minute. You're seeing someone? It's not Tom, is it?" Now Jen sounded mad.

"No, no. Calm down. I had a flat tire on Mackinac Island – "

"I thought you weren't allowed to drive cars up there."

Celia threw a pillow at her. "Will you stop interrupting? I was riding a bicycle. This guy that May's been trying to set me up with for years happened to come upon me and fixed it. Then I came back here and had a flat tire, on my car," she clarified for Jen's benefit, "and Alex saved the day again. We've been out twice. But he has a new Audi, and he only got it six months ago, too."

Jen narrowed her eyes. "That's an awful lot of coincidences for one man," she said thoughtfully.

"I know."

They lapsed into silence. Celia fingered the file in her lap, wondering how it all added up. "You know, I think Alex and Ashley, the woman who's mooching off Henry, know each other. She mentioned him the other day and tried to cover it up, and he didn't seem pleased when he found out she would most likely be at May's garden party next Thursday."

"That's awfully convenient," Jen mused, her eyes unfocused. "Are you thinking that this Alex guy is the one who's been embezzling money from your dad?"

"I wasn't, at least not until about thirty seconds ago. But why would he even bother? He has plenty of money of his own. Why would he trouble himself to filch it from someone else?"

"How do you know he has all this money? Does he have some high-paying job or something?"

Come to think of it, Celia didn't really know what Alex did with his time. He'd been wearing a suit the day he'd changed her tire on the Dan Ryan expressway; why would you wear a suit if you weren't going to work? "I don't really know," she admitted. "May was always talking him up, especially after I started dating Tom, and she seemed to think it was a big selling point that he was rich. I always assumed he stood to inherit a fortune."

As if the CD player knew what they were talking about, the music suddenly changed. The first four notes of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony boomed into the silence, and both Jen and Celia jerked in response. They laughed at each other, and Celia stacked the folders on top of her desk. She'd copy them tomorrow for Detective Patterson and let him deal with the whole mess.

***

Celia dropped the copies she'd made at the police station the next day. She and Jen had spent the majority of the evening writing notes on sticky notes for the detective, and she'd scribbled an extra line at the bottom of the first page. "Should I cancel my date with Alex Stanfield for this Thursday?"

Detective Patterson called her as she was on her way to work the next morning. "Keep your date," he said in his stiff voice. "We have no reason to suspect him yet, and it could all be coincidental."

That word again, Celia though as she swerved around a truck. How many times could it be said about the same person? "If you say so," she said doubtfully. "Will you call me if you figure anything out?"

"I'll see what I can do, ma'am." He paused. "Are you driving a car?"

"Yes, why?" She zipped into a space in the right hand lane and exited ten feet later.

"You know that's highly dangerous."

Celia rolled her eyes. "Yes, I know that, Detective."

He harrumphed noisily. "I need to get back to work. Keep me informed if Mr. Stanfield does anything you find strange. Good day, ma'am."

Celia flipped her phone closed as she pulled into the parking lot of the library. It's too bad he's in law enforcement, she thought ruefully. He'd have made an incredible butler.

Her phone buzzed again as she walked down the hall. She answered without looking to see who was calling. "Hello?"

"Celia, this is Michael." His voice was faint and crackly, as though he was calling from a tunnel.

"Mick! I haven't heard from you in a while. How are things going?"

"Fine, fine. Look, we're making plans to return to Chicago. Would you mind calling a taxi to get us from the airport when we have our tickets?"

"I can come for you," she protested. "My car isn't that small."

Michael laughed. "I know, but we may get in while you're at work. I'll email you when I have all the details."

"No problem."

She heard muffled voices, as though he was talking to someone at the other end of the line. "Oh, and Cassie says to tell you hey. Look, I'm sorry to cut this short but I have to go. Thanks again."

"I'll see you soon," Celia said, her mind already on the day before her.

"Oh, and one more thing. Lauren's engaged."

The phone clattered to the ground. Celia stared at it in horror. How could Tom have asked Lauren to marry him? Had his feelings changed since she'd overheard him talking to Locke just three weeks before? She ran down the hallway and picked up a current copy of the Tribune. With shaking fingers she opened it to the third page. Tom was back, as promised by his editor. She started to read, hoping Tom's words would refute what Michael had told her.

_Ready or Not_

_by Thomas Elliot_

_It's good to be back._

_For those of you who've been wondering where I've disappeared to, I'm still in Michigan. I've spent the past two weeks holed up in my best friend's house, such terrible company that even he has fled his own home, and left me alone in this huge, empty Victorian with no one to talk to but myself. And, at the risk of sounding like a nutcase, I have._

_Once I had bored myself to tears I decided to look through an old box of my things that somehow got stored here. Inside was a bunch of old school papers I wrote for an English class so long ago that I can't remember the teacher's name._

_We were studying Shakespeare, and the essay that caught my attention was about __Much Ado About Nothing__. For some reason, back in high school this play captured my fancy, and I spent many hours debating which character suited me the best. At the time, the logical choice was Claudio._

_Now that I am older and a little smarter, and the romanticism of life has faded some, I can see that this may not have been the best choice. For those of you who are a little rusty on the Bard, there are essentially two plots in the play. Hero and Claudio (my miscast equivalent) are the younger, more naïve lovers, whereas Beatrice and Benedick, their older counterparts, are a little wiser and much wittier._

_I believe I identified with Claudio because his lady love, Hero, was so . . . well, nice. I was dating a girl at the time who embodied all the character traits that Hero displayed: sweetness, innocence, and at times a little bit of a pushover (especially when it came to her overbearing father). Since Claudio ended up getting Hero in the end it was a natural conclusion for my innocent brain to come to._

_Now, some ten years later, I wonder at my intelligence. While Hero and Claudio exude love and sweetness, Beatrice and Benedick were invariably more interesting. Their verbal swordplay is what really carries the play, and most readers could really care less about the younger lovers._

_What if I was wrong? What if what I'm really looking for isn't a Hero after all, but a Beatrice instead?_

_But where does a person find a Beatrice? Ideally, she would be a mixture of the two women in the play, sharing Hero's appealing innocence with Beatrice's fierce loyalty and piercing intelligence. I think I may have found this person, although she probably doesn't know I think of her this way. I wonder if she sees me as a Claudio or a Benedick._

_I once swore, like Benedick before me, that I would never marry. I was burnt by a marriage proposal, after all. But I may have to change my opinion. Benedick says, after he has finally admitted to himself that he loves Beatrice, "When I said I would die a bachelor, I never thought I would live till I were married." (1)_

_Now all I have to do is get out of here, find the girl, and convince her that I'm not the naïve boy I once was._

_It may be fun storming the castle._

_Much Ado About Nothing_, .242-244.

Many, many thanks to Linnea for her insightful comments. Timing was a tricky thing for me in this chapter, and she made me see where things could be timed a little better. Let me know what you think, and for those of you who are missing Tom, he returns in the next chapter. Reviews are always welcome!


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Jen caught Celia staring blankly at the wall ten minutes later. She looked at Celia curiously and sat next to her, a cell phone in her hand.

"Did you mean to leave this on the floor outside?"

Celia turned her head slowly. She was having a hard time focusing. "What?" she asked blankly.

"Your phone. You must have dropped it in the hall."

"Oh. Right." Jen tried to hand the phone to her, but Celia didn't seem to notice. Her arm rested on top of the newspaper in front of her, as though her subconscious self was trying to hide the words on the page.

"What's that?" Jen asked gently, touching Celia's fingers. "Did you read some bad news?"

Celia shook her head. "No. Yes. I don't know." She rubbed her temple with the heel of her hand. Her head hurt. "Michael called just after I got here. Lauren's engaged."

"Lauren? Who's Lauren?"

"She's the girl that Tom was dating."

Jen's forehead wrinkled in thought. "You mean the dumb one who fell into the water while trying to get his attention?"

Celia smiled faintly. "That's the one."

"And I guess you think she's engaged to Tom."

Celia felt a sudden surge of irritation. "Of course I mean that! What else would you think after you read this?" She thrust the newspaper under Jen's nose. "Read it," she ordered. "Read it and then tell me that they aren't getting married."

Jen raised her eyebrows at Celia's unexpected outburst, but took the paper anyway.

The room was quiet as Jen scanned the column. When she was finished she laid the paper back on the table and sighed. "Well, it certainly sounds like he's thinking about getting married," she said. "But, if you'll notice, he never says who he's chasing after. He could very well have meant you."

"Of course he didn't!" Celia snapped. "You don't understand what he's saying. " Celia pressed her fists to her eyes, trying to keep from crying.

"You seem awfully cut up by this. I thought you didn't care what Tom Elliot did anymore."

"I don't."

Jen looked at her steadily. "Stop lying to yourself. It's very unbecoming."

Celia stared at her hands, trying not to think about Tom being engaged. "I do care," she said finally. "I thought I'd moved past this, but I haven't. I don't want him to marry anyone, especially not Lauren."

"Why not?"

Celia raised anguished eyes to her friend. "Because I love him," she whispered. "I don't know why, but I do. And now he's engaged to someone else, and I'll never have the chance to tell him." She laid her head on her arms and let the hot tears run onto the table.

She didn't hear Jen move, but suddenly she was there, her arms around Celia's shaking shoulders. "It'll all work out," she said, almost crooning. "I promise, it will."

They stayed like that for several minutes until the initial panic had worked itself out of Celia's system. When she sat back up she rested her head on Jen's arm. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to break down like that."

Jen chuckled softly. "That's why you have a best friend. Now tell me about this article. I think I'm missing something."

"Back in high school we argued endlessly about which Shakespearean character we were most like, and Tom insisted that I was Hero to his Claudio. I didn't want to be her; she was too gullible and naïve, but he swore that was who I was. Now he's found himself a Beatrice and is going to marry her.

Jen thought about this. "It's been seven years. I didn't know you back then, but I would hardly call you gullible or naïve. Maybe he sees a different Celia and that's the person he's after now."

Hope bubbled unchecked into Celia's blood. Then she remembered Michael's parting words. "As much as I'd like to believe that, the fact is that Lauren's engaged," she said flatly. "Who else could she be marrying?"

Jen leaned back in her chair and stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. "What about that friend of yours, the one who lost a fiancée in a boating accident?"

"Locke? He's too smart for that." At least, I hope so, she added silently.

"And Tom's not?"

"You didn't see the two of them together. Locke was different; all he did while we were in Michigan was mock her. He even called her 'Pinkie'."

Jen laughed. "I think you would have been better off dating him. He sounds more your type than Alex does. And certainly less dangerous."

Celia gave her a half-smile. "You may be right," she admitted, "but unfortunately Alex is what I've got. And I could never see Locke that way; he's like a brother to me." She paused. "There really isn't anyone else it could be," she said hopelessly, her voice dead. She crumpled the newspaper and stood up. "I've lost my chance.

"I've got to run," she went on a few seconds later in a voice that wasn't quite as steady as she would have liked. "I have to be at the Mayfair branch in forty-five minutes. Tell Scott I hope he's not watching too much daytime television." She grabbed her bag from the table, shot a weak smile at Jen, and hurried down the hall, page three of the paper still clutched in her fist.

The day passed in a blur, and Celia hardly knew how she got home that night. She threw her bag on the kitchen table, made herself a sandwich, and sat on the couch, still in her work clothes. She flipped on the television and watched, motionless, as the Cubs beat the Cardinals. It's about time, she thought wearily. This is the first good thing I've seen all day.

The local news followed the game's broadcast, and her mind started to wander as the usual reports of corrupt Chicago government and random stabbings flashed across the screen. She had just decided to turn the thing off and go to bed when she jerked to attention, her eyes refocusing on the television.

"It seems that columnist Thomas Elliot is finally tying the knot," the chirpy anchorwoman was saying. "After a month of columns about a lost love that threw him to the wind, it appears that he's found someone new. When asked about his future plans, Mr. Elliot said that he's glad his readers are so interested in his love life but to please stop sending him messages that tell him what to do. He's a grown man, after all." The young woman's eyes twinkled as she looked into the camera. "Believe me, Mr. Elliot, the bachelorettes of Chicago know you're a grown man. We've seen your picture in the paper, and we're waiting to see what you do next."

With fumbling fingers Celia turned off the television. Couldn't she even watch the news anymore without being reminded that Tom was getting married? She stood abruptly, walked into her bedroom, flung herself on her bed, and screamed into her pillow until she was breathless. It didn't help.

***

Celia threw herself into her work over the next few days, determined to forget all about newspaper columnists and men in general. Jen watched her with worried eyes, finally cornering her at lunch on Thursday.

"How are things going?"

Celia shrugged and focused on her peanut butter and jelly. "Fine."

Jen stared at her for a long moment. "I think you're lying to me."

Celia ignored her.

Leaning over the table, Jen tilted her head to one side. "How have you been sleeping?"

Celia shrugged, not wanting to admit that most nights she tossed and turned until the sheets were a tangled mess on the floor.

Jen made an annoyed sound in her throat. "You look like you need a nap. Do you have anything scheduled for this afternoon?"

"No, but I need to –"

"You need to go home and sleep for a few hours before you see May tonight. You know she'll take one look at you and know something's wrong. Do you want to tell her about Tom?"

"No!" Celia's head snapped up. "No, of course I don't," she went on more calmly. "These parties are ghastly enough as it is. The last thing I need is for May to give me the third degree."

Jen started to peel her banana. "Have you heard anything from Detective Stiff Upper Lip?"

Celia felt a reluctant smile tug at the corners of her mouth. "No, I haven't. He told me I shouldn't cancel on Alex tonight, so I guess I'm stuck. What do you think, is Miss Fuller going to be killed in the garden with the candlestick?"

Jen shot her an amused look. "You never know," she said. "It wouldn't hurt to pay attention to Alex's reaction when he sees Ashley. It could give us some clue as to their real relationship." She paused, her fingers playing absently with her napkin. "Have you heard from anyone in Michigan lately?"

Celia's face grew a shade paler, making the dark circles under her eyes more pronounced. "No. I haven't heard from anyone since Monday."

"No one? Not even Cassie?"

That _was_ strange, Celia realized. Cassie usually called her every few days to chat. "No, she said slowly. "No one's called since Monday."

Jen's eyes narrowed. "Did you turn your phone off?"

"No. It just hasn't rung."

"Hm. That's awfully strange."

"What, now you think Alex has sabotaged my phone, too?"

Jen tapped her fingers on the table impatiently. "That's ridiculous. I just meant it was strange that no one's tried to talk to you, that's all."

Celia could feel the yawn coming and tried to hide it behind her hands, but Jen noticed and cocked a finger at her. "You, young lady, are to go home right now. Take a nap, get dressed in some nice spring color so the dark shadows under your eyes don't make you look like a vampire, and have fun at the party tonight."

Celia got to her feet reluctantly. "I'm not that tired."

Jen waved her out of the room. "Just do as you're told. I don't want to see you until tomorrow morning. And keep an eye on your date. You've never seen him with Ashley before."

Celia laughed to herself as she left the library, and was slightly surprised that she still could. Maybe, she thought, once Tom is married I'll be finally able to move on. And maybe someone else is around the corner. She shook her head, knowing that was most likely the worst lie she'd ever told herself.

Celia had the foresight to set her alarm before falling into bed that afternoon, and three hours later she awoke to the sound of the seventh inning stretch at Wrigley Field on the radio. She blinked sleepily and stretched her arms over her head sighing in contentment. She must have been more tired than she thought, although she'd never admit that to Jen.

She took a long, hot bubble bath and emerged from the tub wrinkled and red. Padding over to the closet, she looked at the dress Cassie had purchased for her at the mall. It really was beautiful, but Jen was right. This was a garden party, after all. She rummaged through the clothes she'd bought with Cassie during the "make over your sister" outing and found a white dress that swirled softly around her knees. It made her feel pretty, and she smiled at herself in the mirror when she combed her hair, leaving it down for the first time in weeks. It felt strange to have it brush her back where the dress left her skin exposed. Strange, but good.

Cars were parked all along May's street when Celia arrived, and she spent ten minutes finding a parking space and then walking through May's neighborhood. A block away from the house she spotted Alex, who was leaning against his car. He was dressed in a light suit that fit him very well, Celia noticed. His shirt was open at the neck and his arms were folded across his chest. He seemed to be waiting for someone.

Celia hesitated on the curb across the street, wondering if she should call out to him. As she opened her mouth, Alex straightened up and walked swiftly toward a car driving toward him. After it stopped he bent over to talk to the person behind the wheel, one hand gripping the door frame and the other in his pocket. He could be in a fashion magazine, Celia thought. It's too bad his interior doesn't match the outside more closely.

Instinctively Celia ducked behind a tree and watched as Alex talked to the person in the car. His voice was too low for her to hear anything, but his body language spoke volumes. He was clearly upset about something. A minute or two later he let go of the car with a frustrated gesture and pulled his hand out of his pocket. He shoved it through the window, giving something to the person inside. He said a few more words and then turned and walked away, his movements stiff and angry. As the car sped down the road, Celia retreated further into the shadows of the tree and stared at the woman driving. It looked just like Ashley Smithwurte.

Celia stood there for several seconds, wondering what she should do. Should she call Detective Patterson? She couldn't tell him what Alex and Ashley had talked about, and she hadn't even been able to see what he'd given her. Patterson would most certainly just tell her that she was overreacting. She wished, not for the first time, that Alex could be boring, gorgeous and normal. She didn't think she could handle weird, gorgeous and confusing.

She followed Alex until he turned the corner and then she cut through several backyards, just like she'd done as a kid when she was late getting to her aunt's house. It felt funny to be sneaking around in high heels; the last time she'd done this she hadn't owned heels, high or otherwise.

She met Alex in the front yard, only slightly breathless. His eyes were still narrowed in annoyance but he quickly smoothed his expression. "Celia! See, I can be on time."

"No apartment emergencies today?" she asked, taking his proffered hand.

A look of irritation flashed across his face briefly before he answered. "No, not this time. Shall we go in and face the grandmas together? I'm counting on you to make me look as masculine as possible, so be as clingy as you like." He raised his eyebrows at her and she laughed before letting him lead her under the flowered trellis and into the garden behind the house.

May spotted them at once and hurried over, leaving one of her friends speaking to thin air. "Celia! Alex! I'm so glad to see the two of you." She leaned her head close to Celia's and said in a loud stage whisper, "Isn't he perfect? If I were thirty years younger I'd be chasing after him." She winked at Alex. "Although I don't think he could keep up with me. Get a drink, both of you, and start mingling. So many people have been asking about you." She smiled at Celia in a very self-satisfied manner, then patted her on the arm and hurried off when someone called her name.

Several women were eyeing them speculatively, and Alex groaned. "I can't believe I let you talk me into this. I know I was late the other day, but really, this is above and beyond any kind of torture you could have imagined. I think you might owe me another dinner date after this."

Celia smiled faintly, wondering why he was so intent on seeing her again. It wasn't like she was giving him something he couldn't get somewhere else. "We'll discuss that later," she told him as a group of heavily scented ladies approached them. "Right now we should be figuring out an escape plan."

Two hours later Celia had to admit that she might, in all honesty, owe Alex something pretty big. He'd emerged from the last horde of people with his cheeks red with fingernail marks from some over-zealous guest intent on telling her friends that she'd touched a beautiful man – and he hadn't been able to run away. Alex even had lipstick smudged on his collar where some poor infatuated soul had tried unsuccessfully to peck him on the lips.

Alex grabbed her arm and marched her toward the house. "That's it," he hissed. "I think someone pinched me on the rear. No one deserves this, no matter how late they were."

Celia tried not to laugh at his obvious exasperation. "You might be right," she conceded. They entered the kitchen and Celia grabbed a paper towel and started to scrub at his collar. "I think I may have been a bit harsh on you."

"A bit? I promise, on the soul of my dead mother, that I will never be late for a date again. Cross my heart." He looked down at her hand on his collar and kissed it. He had just started to lean in, his gaze on her lips, when a waiter walked in and busied himself at the kitchen island.

Her hand still in his, Alex tugged her toward the door. "Let's get out of here," he said with a meaningful gleam in his eye.

Celia followed him outside but stopped before he could pull her across the lawn. "I need to say goodbye to May," she explained. "If we just take off I'll never hear the end of it."

Alex rolled his eyes, but followed her around the edge of the party, his hand still locked firmly around hers. She knew he was trying to tell the women at the party that he was straight, but she was starting to get a little irritated. It wasn't like they were dating, and she didn't much like the fact that he was acting like they were.

When they found May she was standing with Henry and Claudia. Henry was obviously displeased about something; he kept looking at his watch and sighing. Claudia took one look at Alex and adopted her most flirtatious smile.

"There you are, Alex," she cooed. "I'm so glad you could make it. The party wouldn't be the same without you."

"Alex hasn't come to May's garden party in years," Celia pointed out.

"Oh, Celia. When did you get here?" Claudia glanced at her before refocusing her attention on Alex.

He grinned at her and tightened his hold on Celia's hand. "We came together, actually."

Henry sat heavily in a chair next to May and sighed loudly. "Henry, is something wrong?" May asked him.

"I thought you invited Ashley to the party."

"I sent an invitation to all of you. Didn't you tell her about it?"

Henry looked affronted. "Of course I did. But she's not here."

Before May could say anything, Alex cut in. "I don't think she'll be attending tonight."

Celia looked at him in surprise. "What makes you say that?"

Alex blinked at her for a few seconds, as though unaware that he'd spoken aloud. "What?"

"How do you know Ashley isn't coming?"

A panicked expression flitted across his face so swiftly Celia wasn't sure she'd seen it in the first place. "Oh, I saw her on my way to the house and she asked me to give her regrets," he said with forced nonchalance. "It seems she had some sort of situation to manage."

Her eyebrows lifted in disbelief, Celia asked, "Another emergency?"

Alex shrugged, clearly uncomfortable. "I don't know her very well, so I really couldn't say. I'm sorry to give you such bad news, Mr. Fuller."

Henry pouted and got to his feet, muttering about getting a drink. Alex cleared his throat. "Celia and I were just coming over to give our farewells, May. Thank you so much for inviting us," he said as he kissed her on the cheek. "I think we're going to head off now. It was a delightful evening."

Celia tried not to laugh at his expression as he embraced her aunt. "Don't expect me back next year," she warned May when she stepped forward to embrace her.

"Oh, next year I'll be throwing you a shower." Celia just rolled her eyes and followed Alex as he strode toward the street.

Celia pulled her hand free when they reached the sidewalk. "Thanks for coming tonight. Just think – you won't have to make an appearance at another of May's parties for the next decade."

Alex grimaced. "Believe me, I won't."

"At least no one still questions your sexual orientation." She studied him, wondering how far she could push. "I didn't know you were on friendly terms with Ashley," she said, trying to sound casual.

"Oh, I don't really. Like I told your father, we just saw each other in the street and she asked me to pass along her message."

Celia placed her hands on her hips. "I saw her 'pass along her message,' and it looked like you knew her a little better than that."

Even in the darkness she could see his face pale. "I may have been a little irritated when I spoke with her, that's all. I'm sorry you had to see me when I wasn't at my best."

"Alex, you were arguing. I watched the whole thing."

"Did you hear what we said?" Alex's voice was smooth, but his hands clenched at his sides.

"No, I didn't."

The fists relaxed. "Then you didn't hear me tell her she would be disappointing Henry. I tried to convince her to come in and at least explain why she couldn't stay, but she wouldn't listen to reason. I'm afraid I got a little upset."

Celia remained silent. She was sure he wasn't telling the truth, but had no good reason to question his word. "I'd better be going now. Thanks again for coming."

Alex smiled at her and placed his arm around her waist. "I think the least you can do to show me your gratitude is by giving me a kiss."

Celia tried to pull away. "I thought my penance for all the pinching and kissing was to go to a fancy restaurant with you."

His grin widened. "Oh, I still want that, but there are a lot of little old ladies watching us and I think they need one final reminder that I like women."

Celia turned her head to see several people lining the fence, watching them avidly. "Oh, for goodness sake," she sighed.

"We wouldn't want to disappoint them, would we?" Before she could protest Alex pulled her close, leaned down, and pressed his lips firmly against hers.

This is probably where he expects me to swoon, Celia thought dispassionately. She would have, if she'd felt anything to swoon over, but there was nothing.

"Now, was that so bad?" Alex's lips were close to her ear, and she could feel his breath ruffling her hair.

"No, it wasn't bad." Celia looked over his shoulder. All of the women were fanning themselves with their purses and chattering to each other furiously. "I think we've given May's friends enough of a show. I'd better be going."

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. "I'll be calling you next week, Celia. Don't forget; you still owe me a date."

"But I didn't actually agree to – "

He wagged his finger at her as he backed into the shadows. "I think you did," he said before turning and disappearing down the street.

***

Celia thought about his kiss all the way back to her apartment. Was she going crazy? She should have felt _something_ when he'd kissed her, shouldn't she? She imagined it was like eating Belgian chocolate and thinking it was nothing special. Maybe she should get her head examined.

She stopped, waiting for the light to change, and ran her hand through her hair. She still hadn't figured out what Alex was doing; if he had been stealing from Henry, as Detective Patterson seemed to suspect, then why was he so anxious to keep seeing her? Wouldn't it be safer if he never met anyone in her family? That way no one would suspect him of doing anything wrong.

After she pulled the key out of the ignition she sat in the car for a while, suddenly exhausted. Had it really only been three hours since she'd left for May's house? It seemed like much longer. Sighing, she got out of the car and glanced at the one parked in front of her as she locked the door. It looked familiar, she thought to herself. This was surprising; she didn't usually pay attention to what people drove. This one, though, looked just like Tom's.

The idea that he might be here, at her apartment, made her heart pound. Could Tom have come to see her? She raced up the stairs to the building's front door when the realization hit her – there was no way Tom would be here; he'd be wherever Lauren was, planning the wedding. She had a sudden urge to cry, or maybe to hit something. The one good thing about Alex and all of his intrigues was that for four hours the idea of Tom being married had been pushed to the periphery of her brain. One look at that blasted car and he was right back in center vision.

She stumbled down the hall in the dim light and didn't notice the figure sprawled out in front of her apartment until she'd almost stepped on him. Celia sucked in a shallow breath and stopped where she was. "Tom?" she whispered.

The person scrambled to his feet and held out his arms. "Sorry to disappoint you, darlin'." Locke's voice sounded amused, as though he'd expected this reaction from her.

Celia fell into his embrace and tried to quell the irrational pain that had squashed the air from her lungs. "Locke," she whispered. "I'm so glad to see you." She hurriedly opened her door and pushed him inside, not wanting to disturb the people living down the hall. "What are you doing here? I saw the car outside and thought – "

Locke laughed wryly as she flipped on the light. "I know what you thought, and that's why I'm here. Before I get into that, though, let me take a look at you." He backed up a few paces and stared at her. "You haven't been sleeping," he said critically. "But you do look very pretty; am I interrupting something?"

Celia shook her head. "No; well, yes, I was out tonight, but I drove myself."

Locke's eyes narrowed. "Are you still seeing that guy you met on the island?"

Shrugging, Celia moved past him and headed through the kitchen. "Come on upstairs," she said over her shoulder. "It's much more pleasant up here."

"I know you're avoiding my question," Locke grumbled behind her. "Ah, I see what you mean. I was hoping there was more to this place than what I saw downstairs." He gazed out the window and smiled. "That's an incredible view. Almost as good as the one from Casa Beryl. I can see why you like it here."

Celia kicked off her shoes and sank into the couch. "So why are you here? It can't be to question me about my dating habits, so what's up?"

Locke sat on the couch so he could see her face. "I guess you heard about Lauren," he said slowly.

Celia just nodded, not trusting herself to say anything.

"And I guess you're wondering how it happened."

"No, actually, I'm not. I'd rather not talk about it, to tell you the truth."

Locke half-smiled. "But that's why I'm here – to talk about it. When you wouldn't answer anyone's phone calls I figured you'd jumped to the wrong conclusion, so here I am, setting things straight."

Celia stared at him, wondering what he was talking about. "What do you mean, I haven't answered anyone's phone calls? No one's called for several days."

Locke shook his head. "Is your phone even on? I've been calling every hour since Monday morning. You should have about thirty messages from me, not to mention the ones from Cassie."

"Of course it's on." She grabbed the phone from her bag where she'd tossed it on the floor and handed it to him. "See for yourself."

Locke turned it over in his hands. "Your message indicator is on," he said. "Didn't you think to check them?"

"It never made any noise, and I haven't been in the mood to talk to anyone."

He pressed a few buttons. "It was on silent mode," he said after a few seconds. "Did you do that on purpose?"

Celia thought back to the last time she'd spoken on the phone. "I dropped it after I talked to Michael a few days ago," she said out loud. "I was so panicked that I didn't –" she stopped talking when she caught Locke's expression.

"Why were you panicked?" he asked gently.

Celia looked down at her hands twisting in her lap. "It doesn't matter," she muttered. She wished she could crawl into bed and sleep until after Lauren's wedding.

"Celia, look at me." When she didn't move Locke lifted her chin with his thumb, and she raised her eyes reluctantly to his. "Tom's not getting married."

Celia froze. "What do you mean?" she whispered. "Michael said . . . "

"I know. He tried to give you the details when he called, but you hung up on him."

"But what about Tom's column? He said he was getting married. And they talked about him on the news that night -- " After four days of believing the unthinkable, her brain couldn't process Locke's words.

"Celia. Stop. Tom can't be engaged to Lauren because he didn't ask her to marry him."

Irrationally, Celia snapped at him. "Then who did?"

Locke grinned. "You're never going to believe this, but she's marrying her doctor." He laughed outright at her flabbergasted expression. "I know. We all had the same reaction. They've only known each other three weeks or so. And for at least one of those she was kind of out of it."

"But – but – I don't understand."

Locke took her hands in his. "Celia, I wouldn't lie to you about something like this. Lauren is engaged to her doctor, Brad Boyle. Not to Tom."

Celia opened and closed her mouth several times. Then she leaned over, buried her head in her hands, and burst into tears.

After taking her in his arms Locke let her cry herself out, patting her on the back and remaining quiet. When her sobs had subsided and she seemed to be in control of herself again, he led her to her bedroom and waited until she'd brushed her teeth and changed into her pajamas. Then he tucked her in bed, turned out the light, and Celia fell into a sleep so deep she didn't hear her alarm the next morning.

When she finally got out of the shower Locke was already awake and had breakfast ready for her. "Are you feeling better this morning?" he asked, handing her an apple.

Celia shrugged. "I guess. It was true, then? Tom's not getting married?"

Locke smirked at her. "Not yet." At Celia's indrawn breath he hurried to continue. "No, he's not marrying Lauren."

Celia let out a lungful of air and sank into a chair in the sitting room. "Thank goodness," she sighed. "I was beginning to think it was all a dream."

Locke grinned at her. "Nope. If you don't mind, I think I'll come to work with you today. I don't have anything else to do, and I think we still need to get some things hammered out before I leave for home on Sunday."

Celia blinked at him. The shower hadn't been long enough to wash the sleep from her brain. "You're leaving Sunday?"

Locke poured her a glass of orange juice. "Well, I don't live here, and I need to get back to the island. We're expecting a houseful next week."

She grabbed her keys and headed for the door. "You're welcome to come along, but I'll warn you, you'll spend most of your time singing silly songs and crawling around on your hands and knees."

Locke grinned. "Sounds like my kind of fun."

Later that afternoon, after she'd finished being a story lady for the third time that day, Celia and Jen watched Locke chatting happily with a group of three-year-olds. They seemed to understand each other perfectly.

"Are you sure you can't fall in love with him?" Jen asked. "If I weren't already married I'd be asking him for his number."

Celia sighed. "I wish I could."

"Hey, I nearly forgot to ask. How was the thing with Alex yesterday?"

Celia hesitated. "Well, it was amusing to watch all the little old ladies fawn over him and pinch his butt, but . . . "

"Don't tell me. He and Ashley are having torrid sex under our very noses."

Celia grimaced. "Please, stop. For all I know, they might be." She quickly related the evening's events, concluding, "And I don't know what to think. Detective Patterson will most likely tell me I'm paranoid, but there've been too many coincidences lately."

Jen tapped her finger thoughtfully on her chin. "He thinks you agreed to go out with him again?"

"That's what he said, but I certainly didn't tell him I would."

"Well, let's let him think that until we hear otherwise from Patterson. Maybe Scott and I can come with you and encourage him to behave himself."

Celia felt a rush of relief. "Chaperones. What a good idea. When he calls I'll tell him you're coming."

Jen grabbed a book from a toddler's hands before he could put it in his mouth. "What's he look like, anyway? I still can't believe I haven't seen him yet."

"I suppose 'beautiful' and 'I-can't-believe-I'm-not-attracted-to-him' is a good enough description."

"No way."

Celia shrugged. "If I see him before we go out again I'll be sure to take his picture for you." Not that that was likely, but it seemed to appease her friend.

"It's a deal. Email it when you do."

Locke glanced up at them and extricated himself from his playmates. "Are you all done for the day? I'm getting hungry."

Jen smiled at him absently, her mind still on Alex. "It was nice to meet you," she said before bending to reshelf several books.

Locke was quiet on their way out of the library. "What were you girls talking so seriously about back there?" he asked.

Celia wasn't sure she wanted to tell him about Alex. She didn't know why, but if she was going out with a manipulative psychopathic thief she didn't want anyone to know. "Nothing much," she said vaguely. "What are you in the mood for? It's been a while since you've been back to Chicago, hasn't it?"

Locke got a far-away look in his eyes. "There was this restaurant down on Wells Street. With rude waiters."

"You want to go to Ed Debevic's?" Celia started to laugh. "Are you serious?"

Locke looked offended. "Why not? Not everyone can have my sunny disposition."

Still laughing, Celia unlocked her car. "Okay, you're the one that came all the way out here. Ed's it is."

They were early enough to get a table without waiting, and Locke smiled brightly at their waitress. "What's good to eat here?" he asked.

The girl threw their menus on the table. "If you came here for good food you might as well pick yourself off that chair and get out," she advised.

Locke laughed. "Well, Melissa, thanks for the advice, but I think we'll stay." She grinned back at him before she could help herself and walked off.

Celia eyed him. "How did you know her name was Melissa?"

Locke leaned back in his chair. "It was on her name tag." He watched as Melissa stopped at another table. "She's cute, isn't she?"

Smiling faintly, Celia opened her menu. "You know, for a while I was worried that you'd fall for Lauren."

Locke's attention snapped back to her. "What? Me?" He looked appalled.

"Well, the similarities between Lauren and Emily were very striking. I could see how you might have transferred some of your feelings to Lauren."

Locke shuddered. "I hope I'm smarter than that. She has changed, you know," he went on, his gaze back on Melissa. "She's not so insipid and clingy. Well, not to Tom, anyway."

Celia was quiet for several minutes. "How did that work, exactly? I mean, how did Lauren fall in love with her doctor with Tom sleeping down the hall?"

Locke sat up. "Didn't you read his column? He's been living on the island. He wanted to give Lauren some space."

"That's what Cassie said, but when I left Michigan he was feeling pretty guilty about what had happened."

He shook his head slowly. "No, he was feeling guilty for leading her on, not for what happened. I finally got him to admit that he'd been a huge jerk, yanking her around just to make you jealous."

Celia thought about the conversation she'd overheard the day she'd learned about Scott's shooting. "Then why is he still there?"

Locke shrugged. "Beats me. He was all gung ho to get back to Chicago but then he said something about making sure Lauren was completely healed before he left. I still think he feels some latent responsibility about the fact that she got hurt trying to get his attention. He's coming back soon, though; I'm leaving his car at the airport for him to pick up when he returns on Sunday."

Tom was coming back. The thought flooded Celia's mind. "So what about you? Have you seen the light, so to speak, about Emily?"

He thought for a minute before answering. "I think I'm getting there," he said slowly. "I know in my head that the accident was exactly that – an accident – but my heart is having a hard time believing it."

Celia smiled at him. "I understand."

Melissa came by then to take their orders, and Locke patted the seat next to him. She sank into it gratefully.

"I'm supposed to be sarcastic and rude to you, you know," she confided, "but it's hard to do when people are decent. Customers think it's funny to be mean and rude back to us; it's unusual to serve nice folk like you." The smile she flashed at Locke was genuine, and he grinned back at her.

"Well, I'm not from around here, but I can see how working in a place like this could make you tired," he said. "We'll try our best not to get on your nerves. You seem too nice to be doing this."

Melissa turned in her seat to look at him. "Well, I'm a Chicagoan, but I go to school at the U of M. I just work here for the summer. This is the last time I'm doing it, though," she added. "I graduate next spring."

Locke's eyes lit up. "Really? What a coincidence. I live on Mackinac Island."

A flicker of interest sparked in Melissa's eyes. "You're kidding. We should get together sometime and chat."

Locke looked scared and delighted at the same time. "I only have a few days here; I came to Chicago to see how my friend was doing, and I need to be back home Sunday."

"Well, maybe I'll be lucky and see you again before you leave."

Locke didn't seem to know what to say to this, but a sudden blare of music jolted Melissa out of her seat.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, obviously flustered. "I've got to go. I'll be back in a minute to take your order."

Locke watched as she climbed onto the counter with several other servers and danced to the music. "You know," he observed, "I never really watched them do this before. I hope she doesn't fall off and hurt herself."

When Melissa came back she was a little breathless. "Don't tell my boss I was nice to you guys," she said in a low voice. "I'm already in trouble for not being sarcastic enough, and I only have a few more weeks left. I'd hate to be fired this close to the end of the summer."

"Most people don't worry about being fired because they were too nice," Locke observed.

"Most people don't work at Ed Debevic's."

Once they'd placed their orders and Melissa had disappeared, Locke looked dazed. "Was she trying to get me to ask her out?"

Celia tried not to smile at his obvious confusion. "It sure seemed that way."

Locke shook his head like he was trying to jar his brain back into place. "I can't believe she lives in Michigan. What are the odds?"

Celia let her mind wander while Locke tried to keep his eyes off of Melissa. What would Tom do when he got back? Would he try to see her? Did she want him to? That was a stupid question, she thought. I admitted to Jen that I still loved him; of course I want to see him. I just wish I knew what to do when that happens.

They ate their dinner quietly, each of them lost in their own thoughts. When Melissa brought their bill Locke grabbed it and, with a deep breath, wrote something on the back.

"What did you write?" Celia asked, curious, after Melissa had taken the check.

"My phone number." Locke's voice sounded strangled.

"Good for you. Wait and see what she does."

When Melissa returned she smiled broadly at Locke and handed him his receipt. "I hope to see you again soon," she said before another customer called her away.

Locke opened the folder with trembling fingers. Inside were his receipt and a small note, signed by Melissa, with a phone number on it.

***

Locke was so jittery the next morning that Celia forced him out of the apartment, dragging him to the nearest home improvement store to help her pick out paint.

"What are you painting again?" he asked distractedly. "I thought you weren't allowed to redecorate apartments."

"I made a deal with the landlady," Celia explained. "I got a great deal if I got rid of the green in the sitting room and kitchen." She stared at all the colors in front of her, wondering what to choose. "I kind of like green," she mused. "Just not the shade that's in there already. Maybe a lighter tint would work better." She plucked a card off the display and held it out to Locke. "What do you think?"

He ignored her, pulling his phone out of his pocket and inspecting it.

Celia rolled her eyes. "Just call her," she advised. "I'm pretty sure she'll go out with you."

"I can't." Locke suddenly sounded anguished. "I'm not sure I'm ready to get involved with someone again."

Celia put her arm around him. "I don't think she's expecting a marriage proposal tonight," she told him gently. "It can't hurt to get to know her a little better. Besides, it'll be good practice for when you are ready for something more serious."

Locke buried his head in her hair. "You're right," he said, his voice muffled. "I'm so glad you're around. I hope Tom doesn't screw things up again; promise me we'll still be friends if you decide never to speak to him again."

Celia tried to swallow the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat. "I promise," she choked out. "How could I not, after you flew all the way out here just to make sure I wasn't going crazy? If I could adopt you into my family I would."

"Maybe I'll adopt you into mine."

"You'll have to take Cassie, too."

Locke pulled away from her and smiled. "That won't be a problem."

"So are you going to call her today or not?"

Locke looked at her in confusion. "Are you trying to get rid of me?"

"Yes," she said laughingly. "You aren't doing me a whole lot of good at the moment, and I could probably get more done if you got this over with and called the poor girl."

Locke stuck his tongue out at her before he took a deep breath, walked a few steps away, and started to dial.

The next morning the apartment felt empty without Locke. Celia laughed to herself, remembering his dazed expression when he'd come back from his date with Melissa the night before. When she'd asked him how it had gone, he'd just smiled and shaken his head. "I'm meeting her in Ann Arbor when she gets back to school in a few weeks," was all he would say. Then he'd pulled her into a fierce embrace and kissed her on the forehead. "I'll call when I get back home."

Celia considered getting the downstairs rooms ready to be painted, but spent most of the day flitting from thing to thing. She kept checking her watch, wondering each time she did where Tom was and when he'd be home.

The next morning she woke determined to keep Tom out of her mind. She went about her normal workday routine; for once she was at the downtown branch, and she spent all morning reading stories to groups of children and advising parents on the books their children would enjoy before Jen came by to remind her that it was time for lunch.

"Are you eating in the back room?" Jen asked. "I didn't see your lunch in the fridge."

"No," Celia said, wishing she'd remembered to pack one. "I'll have to run out and get something. I'll be back before the next session starts. Do you want me to pick you up anything?"

"No, I'm good. I'd hurry, though; they're calling for rain this afternoon."

The air was thick when Celia exited the library, and she quickly ran down the sidewalk. As she approached the street a taxi screeched to a halt. The door flew open, and out stepped Alex.

"Celia! I was hoping I'd run into you today. Have you eaten yet?"

She shook her head dumbly and allowed him to grab her arm. "Let's go," he said smoothly. "Now that I've seen you I can't face eating lunch alone." Not wanting to make a scene, Celia allowed him to propel her into the taxi. "I'm sure you don't have all afternoon to hang out with me," he said, watching her closely, "but I'd enjoy your company for a little while."

Celia tried to smile. "That'd be fun."

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He was casually dressed in shorts and a polo shirt, and he had a baseball cap on. She took her phone from her bag, opened it up. "Say 'cheese', Alex," she said. When he turned his head she snapped a picture of him. His expression grew smug when he realized what she had done, and he took the phone from her to view his image.

"What's this for?" he asked, handing it back to her.

Celia shrugged casually. "Some of the girls in the library didn't believe I was seeing anyone," she explained, hoping he would buy it. When he didn't say anything she breathed a silent sigh of relief and reminded herself to forward the picture to Jen when she got back from lunch.

The taxi driver headed down Michigan Avenue and stopped when Alex opened his door at a light. They walked down the street, not speaking, until Alex suddenly halted.

"How's your friend doing?"

Not sure which friend he meant, Celia blinked at him.

"The one who got himself shot in the shoulder."

"Oh, Scott. He's doing much better. Why do you ask?"

Alex shrugged and threw his arm around her shoulder before heading down the street again. "Just wondering. When are we going out again, by the way? I'm sorry I didn't call you this weekend, but I was a little busy."

Celia almost told him she didn't want to see him again, but she remembered Jen's promise to 'chaperone'. "When did you want to go?" she asked, hoping he wouldn't suggest that evening.

"I don't know. I'm free Saturday night; why don't we go to the House of Blues? I hear they'll have a good band, and you know I wouldn't mind seeing you get dressed up for me."

Celia tried not to roll her eyes. "That's not really a dressed-up sort of place."

Alex smiled lazily. "I don't care. Come on, you owe me one. After getting pinched at your aunt's last weekend – " he shuddered involuntarily. "Come on, Celia. I'm not asking you to ransom your soul."

Celia shifted uncomfortably under his arm. "Saturday sounds fine." She kept the fact that she'd be bringing reinforcements to herself, not wanting him to recant. "Shall I meet you there?"

Alex's arm tightened around her. "And miss the opportunity to see you safely home? I don't think so. I'll come get you at eight. I promise to be on time," he added.

A rumble of thunder bounced off the buildings around them and people scurried past, looking for shelter. A few seconds later the heavens opened, drenching everyone that wasn't fortunate enough to be indoors. Celia shrieked and felt Alex grab her hand as they flat-out ran across the street. He pulled her through the revolving doors of Water Tower Place and they collapsed, laughing, onto a bench in the corner of the building's entrance.

Gasping when the cold air inside hit her wet skin, Celia tried to wring the water from her skirt. "I can't tell you how long it's been since I got caught in a downpour," she said. She looked up to find Alex's eyes fixed hungrily on her wet, nearly see-through blouse.

"You look very . . . tantalizing right now," he murmured. "If you didn't have to be back at the library soon, I can guarantee you I'd find a better use for our time."

The hairs on the back of her neck rose and she shuddered slightly, feeling tremendously uncomfortable. "Then I'm glad my work is waiting for me," she said lightly. "I'd better hail a cab or I'll be late."

He looked like he might argue with her, but his phone rang and he smiled at her ruefully after checking the display.

"I'm afraid I have to take this," he said. "I'll be just a moment." He stepped away, leaving Celia grateful to whoever had called him for the interruption.

When Alex came back he was less than pleased. "I hate to do this to you," he began, "but I've got to run. There seems to be a problem at the office."

"That's fine," Celia said a little too quickly. "I can take care of myself."

"At least let me grab you a taxi," he said. He leaned close and trailed a finger across her neck and down her arm, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake. "I'm looking forward to our date on Saturday." He was gone before Celia could form the words that would cancel their date.

Celia got to her feet, suddenly nervous. What was she thinking? Jen was no stronger than she was, and Scott was still recovering from a gunshot wound. What help would they be if Alex tried something? She turned to follow him out, intending to tell him she had forgotten something – anything – important, when the revolving door swung around. She glanced up at the person exiting and found herself staring straight into the startled eyes of Tom Elliot.

He skidded to a halt, the paper he'd been holding over his head in a vain attempt to stay dry dropping forgotten to the floor. They stared at each other for a few seconds before someone stuck behind him started to push harder. Tom swallowed, bent to pick up his newspaper, and placed his hand on the small of her back. She shivered and he glanced at her before propelling her toward the stairs, where he finally let his hand drop from her back.

"Celia? What are you doing here?"

Celia suddenly had a hard time breathing. "I got caught in the rain," she managed to gasp out after a few seconds.

Tom looked down at her damp clothes and smiled to himself. "I can see that." He was quiet for a moment, then blurted out, "I understand you heard about Lauren."

Celia, who had been more focused on the way the water dripped from his hair onto his shoulders than what he was saying, jerked back to attention. "Yes, I did. Michael called and told me."

Tom cleared his throat nervously. "You must have been surprised."

That was the understatement of the year. "Something like that," she said wryly. "I wasn't sure who she was marrying."

Tom shifted uneasily and rubbed the back of his neck. "Ah, well, Locke told me you might be a little confused." He cleared his throat again. "So now that you've heard the entire story, what do you think? Do you think you could marry someone after knowing them for only three weeks?"

"Definitely not." Celia's answer was so quick and sure that Tom smiled involuntarily, and he relaxed his awkward stance.

"I agree," he said. "Brad seems to be a nice guy and all, and he has all the qualities Lauren was looking for, but I'm not sure I'd do it if I were in her position."

Celia grinned at him. "I'm not sure I'd do _anything_ Lauren would."

Tom's smile spread across his face, making him look almost boyish. "I certainly hope not." He stopped talking and glanced at her anxiously. "Do you need a ride back to work? My car isn't that far away, and I'd be happy to – "

"Celia! Come on, the taxis won't wait forever!"

She could have killed Alex right then and there, but Tom's hand on her arm stopped her from stomping over. "Who's that?" he asked, looking around the crowded foyer.

She just shook her head and walked over to where Alex was standing, impatient, by the window. "I thought you were watching for me," he snapped.

Celia could tell when both men noticed each other; Tom stiffened behind her, and Alex's expression grew smug. "Aren't you the reporter?" he asked. "I understand you've been out of town."

Celia glanced up at Tom and saw the muscles in his jaw flex. "I'm back now," he said stiffly. "And I intend on staying."

Alex bared his teeth in what Celia assumed was supposed to be a smile. "I understand you perfectly, Elliot. Right now I've got to get Celia back to work." He motioned for her to follow him and turned toward the door. When he looked toward the street he swore under his breath. "Come on, Celia," he muttered. "One of the taxis just left. Now I've got to find another one."

"Go ahead, Stanfield," Tom said. "I'm sure you're in a hurry. I can make sure Miss Fuller finds a way back."

Alex looked at Tom sharply for a second. He seemed unsure of whether to leave or not, but his phone rang again and he bent over to kiss Celia lingeringly on the cheek. Tom's fingers tightened almost painfully around her wrist. "Until Saturday," he murmured, just loud enough for Tom to hear.

When he was gone she almost sagged against Tom's chest in relief. "What's going on?" he asked sharply, yanking her away from the door and out of sight. "Are you seeing Alex Stanfield?"

"No!" Celia's voice was shrill. "I'm not dating anyone." She had a sudden urge to laugh, followed by an equally strong one to burst into tears.

"Then what's going on Saturday?"

"It's a group thing. I didn't want to go, but Jen convinced me that it might be a good idea. You should come," she added in a rush, suddenly sure that she needed him to be there. "It would be more fun if you were around."

Tom looked like he didn't know what to say. "Where and when?"

"Saturday, at the House of Blues. Please tell me you'll come."

Tom smiled faintly. "Would it mean that much to you?"

You have no idea, Celia thought. "Yes, it would."

He took a deep breath. "Then I'll be there."

Celia smiled at him, glad that he hadn't pressed her for more of an explanation. "Thanks," she said simply. "You can't know how much I appreciate that." She turned to go but stopped when Tom called her name.

"Can I call you before then?" His voice was nervous, like it had been the first time he'd asked her out so many years before.

Celia could feel herself blushing. "I'd like that," she said. "Do you have my number?"

He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and, without looking at it, recited her phone number. "You gave this to me at the airport," he said at her questioning look.

"Oh, that's right." The rain had eased up, and she pushed the door open. "Thanks again, Tom."

She looked back through the taxi's window to see that he'd followed her out of the building. He stood on the sidewalk and stared after her, the rain slowly turning his hair into unruly curls.

***

The next morning Celia ran to the corner market and grabbed a copy of the _Tribune_. She brought it back to her little kitchen and read Tom's column while she ate breakfast.

_Determination_

_by Thomas Elliot_

_My intention for today's column was to write about the eternal optimist, given the bleak economy we are facing, but I found myself sidetracked to the library after this afternoon's storm. For those of you who haven't been to one in a long time, it has to be one of the quietest places on earth – and this includes my apartment, which has been sadly lacking in laughter and noise since I returned from vacation._

_I was drawn to the children's section, a bastion of cheerfulness and hope. It was story hour, and I settled myself in the back of the room, hoping to observe unseen._

_The story lady was reading a version of "The Little Red Hen", and the theme in the old fable reminded me forcibly of the age-old struggle each of us faces in our fight to get what we want most out of life._

_The little red hen, for those of you who don't have small children, begins when our intrepid chicken finds a grain of wheat in the field. She asks all her friends for help in planting, cutting, grinding, and then baking the wheat, finally turning her hard-earned labor into a delicious loaf of bread. All of these so-called friends decline her pleas for help, preferring instead to go about their own business and leaving the labor to her._

_However, when the bread emerges fragrant from the oven, the hen's friends come flocking to her door. "I'll help now!" they all cry, eager for a share in the fruits of her industry._

_At this, the hen looks at all of them and scoffs. "You didn't help me when I needed your assistance," she cries. "Now it is my turn to relax." And she eats the bread alone, leaving the other animals to go back to their vain pursuits._

_There are many morals that can be taken from this story, but the one that struck me as I watched the young woman reading to her rapt charges was that the little red hen wasn't selfish so much as she was determined. She knew what she wanted and did everything she could to make sure she obtained her goal. In this world of instant gratification, she teaches us a very strong lesson on hard work and determination._

_As I watched the youngsters clamor for another story, I started to think about my own dreams and goals. I once yearned to be a Pulitzer-prize winning author. The odds of that, I'm afraid, are very slim, and I'm okay with that. What I'm not okay with is the thought that I might be allowing my biggest dream, that of true love, to slip through my fingers once again._

_So here I am, standing at the proverbial crossroads. I can choose to let things go as they are, or, follow the example of the little red hen and do everything in my power to convince the woman who haunts my dreams to give me another chance._

_The decision was made the moment I saw her again, even if I tried to convince myself otherwise. So enemies and rivals beware – I _am_ back, and there's nothing you can do to stop me from trying my darndest to win her affections._

_I am determined. And, barring death itself, I will prevail._

Many tremendous thanks to Linnea for setting me straight on the emotional front. She was, naturally, right and I hope I've fixed things to her liking. Betas are wonderful creatures – especially ones that know what they're talking about!

Thank you all for being so patient; it takes a while to write longer chapters. I hope you aren't bored by the end; let me know how I'm doing and if you like what I did to poor Locke. (See, I have a heart after all!) Reviews are always welcome . . .


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

"You sound happy today," Jen said later that afternoon as she passed the children's section. Celia was sitting on the floor, humming to herself as she sorted through puzzle pieces a child had left scattered haphazardly about. "Can I make the assumption that your happy noises stem from a certain columnist's article?"

Celia blushed slightly and then laughed. "I read it first thing this morning."

"I didn't know you got the paper."

"I don't. I had to run to the corner in my bathrobe to get a copy."

Jen's eyebrows lifted. "I think someone's in love," she sang.

Celia's blush deepened. "Haven't we already discussed this?"

Jen chuckled and sat next to her, pulling a pile of puzzles into her lap. "Okay, you win. When are you going to see Tom next?"

Her smile faltering, Celia looked down. "I convinced him to go with us to the House of Blues on Saturday. I hope you don't mind."

Jen looked surprised. "Why would I mind? He'd do a better job at killing Alex, if the opportunity presents itself. He might even enjoy it."

Celia glanced up. "Were you in Water Tower Place yesterday afternoon?"

Jen snorted. "Of course not. Why, did Tom meet the famous Alex again?"

Celia took a deep breath and told her about her "accidental" meeting with Alex the day before. "I told Tom we weren't dating and invited him along this weekend. No offense," she added hurriedly, "but if Alex tries something you and Scott aren't really going to be that threatening."

Jen frowned. "You know, there are so many things about that man that just don't add up. I think we're missing something important. I just wish I knew what it was."

Celia placed a stack of completed puzzles back on the shelf and sat back. "You're right," she said slowly. "I keep thinking there's some sort of connection between Henry's missing money and Scott's shooting. But why would there be?" she asked, not really expecting an answer. "No one knew I'd asked Scott to help."

The words jarred something in her brain, but before she could remember properly the next group of children streamed into the room, chasing the memory out of her mind.

When she got home that evening she ran up the stairs and changed into shorts and a t-shirt. The park behind her home had been calling to her since she'd first moved in, and she hadn't had the time to explore it yet. She took a book off the shelf and headed out the door, grabbing an apple as she went.

The air outside was warm, and the late afternoon sun felt good on her skin. She stood at the edge of the water and watched a little boy try to catch a fish. He didn't much care for waiting; every few minutes he'd wade into the water in his sneakers and check the end of his line, disturbing anything that might have been in the area. She smiled to herself; she'd never gone fishing before, but she doubted she'd have any more patience for it than he did.

The pond wasn't very large, and after she'd circled it for the second time she sat under a tree near her apartment. She ate her apple, her book lying forgotten in her lap. The park reminded her of the one she used to go to with Tom; the only thing missing was the stream. Thinking of Tom made her smile, and she tilted her head back to look up at the sky through the leaves. She wondered what he was doing right then.

"Celia."

She lowered her head slowly and saw Tom standing in front of her, his hands in his pockets and a curious expression on his face. She stared at him for a minute, wondering if she'd fallen asleep. He slowly took his cell phone out of his pocket, dialed a number without looking, and put it to his ear. She jumped when hers rang in response.

"Hello?" she asked, not taking her eyes off him.

"Hey, it's Tom. I told you I'd call before Saturday. Is now a good time to talk?"

She started to laugh and nodded, clicking the phone closed. "What are you doing in my park?" she asked, sitting up straighter. "And how did you know I'd be here?"

Tom shrugged and sat on the ground next to her. "Cassie and Michael are here somewhere," he told her, gesturing vaguely behind him. "They got into town a few hours ago and were on their way to see you. I happened to come across them in the parking garage as they were leaving, and your sister invited me to come along."

"That doesn't explain how you found me in a public park."

Tom smiled faintly. "True. When we saw your car on the street and no one answered the door, I figured you'd gone back here. I remember how much you used to like reading outdoors."

Celia kicked her shoes off and wriggled her toes in the cool grass. She breathed in the damp smell of the earth, then leaned forward and hugged her knees to her chest. "I guess I haven't changed as much as I thought I had."

"You have and you haven't. You have a lot of the same habits, obviously, and you're still the kindest person I know, but you aren't as willing to be stepped on as you used to be. You're much stronger. And definitely more independent."

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "Is that a good thing?"

Tom's eyes were steady as he stared back at her. "Without a doubt."

"Celia! Tom!" Cassie's voice carried across the park, followed by a thud. "Michael, pick that up. You're going to ruin our dinner."

"Oh, I forgot to tell you. We brought food. I hope you haven't eaten." Tom got to his feet and waved at the two people slowly making their way across the grass. "Do you need any help?" he called.

"No, that's okay. Michael needs the exercise."

Celia leaned forward so she could see around Tom's legs. "How much dinner did they bring?" she asked, looking at the bag in Michael's arms. It looked like they were planning to feed the entire block.

Tom shrugged and grabbed the picnic blanket from Cassie's arms. "Enough to leave you leftovers for the next month or so, I'd say. Michael told me he missed the food in Chicago and wanted to stuff himself silly."

Wanting to greet her sister properly, Celia started to get to her feet. She hadn't made it very far before Tom had grasped her hand, pulling her the rest of the way up. They stared at each other for a moment, hands still clasped together, until Cassie threw her arms around her sister and hugged her tightly. "How have you been? Is your job going well? Have you painted the apartment yet?"

Celia laughed and hugged her back. "It's good to see you, too," she said. "Why didn't you call me when you got back? I would have picked you up from the airport."

"We didn't want to bother you at work." Michael placed his bag on the blanket and sank down. "Come on, people, stop flapping your jaws. There's dinner waiting."

It was nearly dusk when they finished off the last of the cheesecake, and Cassie lay back contentedly, her head resting on her husband's lap. "That was good," she sighed. "No offense, Celia, but I don't know how you survived all those years in Michigan. The food just isn't as good as it is here."

Celia stretched out her legs and leaned back on her elbows. "Why do you think I can still wear the clothes I had in high school?"

Cassie turned her head and looked at her sister critically. "Can you really?"

Celia could feel Tom's gaze on her and she blushed. "For the most part."

Tom stood up and wandered over to throw the bag in the garbage can. When he returned he sat next to Celia again, much closer this time. She could feel the warmth from his arm next to hers, and thought idly that if she shifted slightly they'd be touching. The thought gave her goosebumps. She wondered if she dared.

They sat there for a while, listening to the crickets as they started to talk to each other. Cassie's voice was casual when she broke the silence. "Tom, have you read any good books lately?"

He turned his head slowly in her direction, as though his mind had been far away and her voice had pulled him out of a good memory. "I don't know; not really. Why do you ask? Are you looking for a good read?"

Cassie's eyes twinkled. "I heard you've been to the library recently, so I though you might have a suggestion. I'm in the mood for a good children's book."

Celia's arm slipped out from under her, and she fell into Tom. He grabbed her arm and helped her up, and when he went back to his lounging stance his shoulder was touching hers. It felt good, and she grinned at him.

"Yeah, Tom, did you find any good books at the library yesterday?"

He had the decency to blush, but he grinned back when he answered. "I wasn't looking for a book so much as inspiration for a column. Lucky for me, my inspiration was right where I thought it would be. I don't suppose you know if it will be there again tomorrow, do you?"

Celia looked down at her bare feet, crossed at the ankles. "I'm afraid I don't know the whereabouts of your muse, but I'll be off-site for the rest of the week."

"That's too bad," he murmured, looking slightly disappointed. "I may have to write boring political columns until I meet up with it again."

Cassie cleared her throat loudly, looking pointedly in their direction. "Tell me what you've been doing since I went back to Michigan," she said. "Did you ever wear the dress I bought with Claudia and Ashley?"

"Not yet," Celia admitted.

"Why not? Didn't Alex ask you out again?"

Tom stiffened next to her, and Celia closed her eyes. For all her newfound self-reliance, Cassie was still sadly lacking in tact. "Yes, he did, and I didn't wear your dress." She shot a quelling look at her sister, but Cassie wasn't paying attention.

"Well, did you go out with him again?"

Celia sighed and looked up at the stars that were starting to emerge into the darkness. Tom didn't move beside her. "We went to May's garden party last week."

Tom shifted away slightly so that his shoulder was no longer touching hers.

"Oh." Cassie finally looked up at them and swallowed. She didn't seem to know what to say, and they lapsed into silence.

Celia was starting to think that she'd need to come up with a hasty exit strategy when Tom's voice cut into her thoughts. "I thought you weren't dating Stanfield," he said tone of forced neutrality.

"I'm not. I needed a date for May's thing, and he was available. That's all."

"Then how did I find the two of you together yesterday?"

Celia took a deep breath. "I came out of the library to get some lunch, and he happened to pull up right then and asked if I wanted to eat with him. It seemed like a good idea at the time . . ." Her voice trailed off. It hadn't really seemed like a good idea, but Tom didn't need to know why not.

"Well, he didn't look like he was just hanging out with a friend. He looked like he was going to – " Tom stopped talking, his hands clenching into fists on the blanket.

Celia reached over and smoothed out his knuckles. "I'm not dating anyone," she repeated. "You're just going to have to trust me."

Tom looked into her eyes for a long moment before finally nodding and looking away. She didn't take her hand off his, and after a minute or two he turned his palm up, lacing his fingers through hers.

**

The next morning one of the girls at the library gave her a copy of the _Sun-Times_. "Have you seen this?" she asked excitedly. "I guess that writer from the _Tribune_ isn't getting married after all." She sighed dreamily. "I would pay good money for a date with that guy. "He's so . . . so . . . "

"Confusing."

"What?"

Crap. She hadn't meant to say that out loud. "Nothing. Can I read that?"

The girl handed the paper to her before walking down the hall.

A picture of Tom standing outside Water Tower Place in the rain was front and center. The caption read, "Columnist Thomas Elliot of the Chicago Tribune is evidently not engaged. His recent articles have led readers to believe that matrimony was not far away, but this reporter has learned that Mr. Elliot is still on the bachelor list. The question is, who is he referring to every morning? There was no comment from his editor."

Celia stuffed the paper in the garbage, then changed her mind and pulled it back out. That was a really good picture, after all.

Friday afternoon Celia's phone buzzed as she was getting her mail. "Hello?" she said, flipping through the envelopes.

"Hey sis!" Cassie sounded cheerful. "Do you have any plans tonight?"

"Nothing besides a bubble bath. Why? Are you bored?"

Cassie laughed. "No, Michael and I are going out to eat and wondered if you wanted to come along. Tom's coming, too," she added slyly.

Celia dropped the mail on the kitchen table and headed up the stairs. "Sounds fun. Where are we going?"

"Jaime's, around seven. I've been craving good Mexican food."

"Craving? Are you pregnant?"

Cassie snorted. "I really doubt that. Not that Michael would mind, of course, but I want to get some schooling in before the babies arrive. Hey, I've got to go. The guy's here to fix the oven. See you tonight!"

Celia stared at the phone for a second, wondering what Cassie had been doing to break the oven. Shaking her head, she wandered into the bathroom and started to fill the tub. Sometimes it was best not to know.

She'd only been soaking for a few minutes when her phone buzzed with an incoming text. She reached over the side of the tub and felt around on the floor for her skirt, hoping Cassie wasn't cancelling on her.

_Hey, it's Tom. Can I pick you up tonight?_

Celia smiled involuntarily. She hadn't spoken with Tom since their impromptu picnic in the park. _Sounds good_, she texted back.

_I'll be there around 6:30. See you then._

Celia let the phone fall back on the floor, a silly grin spread over her face. Evidently Tom had meant what he'd said in his last column. He wasn't going to take 'no' for an answer.

There was a knock on the door promptly at 6:30, and Celia put her earrings in as she ran down the stairs. Tom stood in front of her, his hands clasped behind his back. He swallowed nervously when she opened the door.

They stared at each other for a long time before Tom cleared his throat and said, "Are you ready to go? We're supposed to meet your sister in half an hour."

He watched as she locked the door, smiling anxiously when she turned to him. "I like your neighborhood," he blurted out. His cheeks flushed and he turned his head away.

Celia stood still on the front mat and gazed at him. "Tom, what's wrong?"

He ran his hand through his hair, making it stand on end. "I'm afraid to say anything stupid," he confessed, staring fixedly at a spot over her head. "I don't have a great track record when it comes to being alone with you."

Celia laughed and touched his arm. "Neither do I," she told him. "I promise not to get offended by anything you say or do tonight. Will that make you feel better?"

Tom smiled slightly and guided her down the hallway. "It's a start."

Cassie and Michael were already waiting for them when they got to Jaime's. Tom pulled Celia's chair out for her and let his hand brush through her hair before sitting next to her. She smiled at him and handed him a menu.

Jaime looked at Celia and Tom critically when he came to take their order a few minutes later. Celia stared hard at him, hoping he'd keep his comments to himself. He grinned at her and put his pad of paper on the table.

"Entonces ustedes estan juntos otra vez?" (So are you two back together?)

Celia scowled at him. "Esa es una pregunta muy personal." (That's kind of a personal question.)

Jaime had the nerve to look affronted. "Ustedes son mis clientes favoritos. Yo creo que tengo un lee a para saber." (You guys are my favorite customers. I think I have a right to know.)

She couldn't help sliding her gaze over to Tom. He was staring at his menu intently. "No estoy seguro," she said, thinking that she couldn't say 'yes' until she'd told Alex to take a flying leap. "Pronto, espero." (I'm not sure. Soon, I hope.)

Jaime frowned. "Tu quieres que yo hable con el por ti?" (Do you want me to talk to him for you?)

"No!" Everyone at the table turned to stare at her sudden outburst. "No, esta bien. Podermos volver al ingles? Es de mal gusto hablar de las personas en frente tuyo." (No, it'll be fine. Can we switch to English? It's rude to talk about people in front of them.)

He sighed and grabbed his pen. "Esta bien. Pero la proxima vez que estas aqui yo espero la pura verdad." (Fine. But the next time you're in here I expect some straight answers.)

Celia rested her head in her hands once Jaime was gone. "I should never have told him I speak Spanish," she moaned.

Tom rubbed her back before resting his arm on the back of her chair. "Don't worry, we're not offended," he said. He grinned at her. "Although I guess I could be; it was evident he was asking about me, and I didn't promise to keep an open mind about what you did."

Celia grinned back at him. "I'll remember that next time I promise you something."

The rest of their dinner conversation was quiet and pleasant, and Celia was just beginning to think things with Tom were back to normal when her phone rang. She nearly groaned when Alex's name flashed on the screen. "I'm sorry," she told Tom, "but I'd better get this."

He wiped his mouth on his napkin and waved her away. "We're nearly finished; take your time. I'll come find you when we're ready to go home."

Celia opened her phone as she walked away. "Hello, Alex." Her voice was cool.

"Celia! What's up?"

Loud frat-party sounds came over the receiver. "Nothing," she said slowly.

Alex laughed loudly. "I was just telling some of my buddies here all about you," he said. "They didn't believe I was seeing a girl like you, and I told them I was, and they said no way – "

Celia froze. "Are you drunk?"

"I never get drunk. It isn't good for my image."

Celia paused, thinking hard. He certainly sounded like he'd had a few too many drinks. "When are you going to tell me about Ashley?"

Alex made a strange noise. "Ashley is very high-maintenance right now. She wants me to – " The background noise drowned out the next part of his sentence. "And now she won't change her name. Says her initials would be too embarrassing. Women are more trouble than they're worth."

"What does she want you to do? I didn't get all that." Celia could hardly breathe. Was he confessing something?

There was a scuffling noise on the other end of the phone, and the voice that spoke next was definitely not Alex's. "I'm sorry," the man apologized. "This is Jeff. I'm afraid my buddy's had a little too much to drink tonight, and he's not really coherent. Can I tell him to call you tomorrow?"

Celia sighed, disappointed. "No, that's okay. How much did he drink, by the way?"

Jeff chuckled. "I think it's only been three or four beers. Alex has a ridiculously low tolerance for alcohol. Once he has a few in him he can't keep his mouth shut. It's got him in trouble before, so I thought I'd better grab his phone before he blurted out something completely stupid."

Celia thought quickly. "Will you do me a favor, and tell him that some friends may join us tomorrow? I'd really appreciate it." She tried to sound offhand, but wasn't sure she'd managed it.

"No problem. Look, I'd better go. Someone's trying to mix something in the bathtub. Later!"

Celia sat on the ground outside Jaime's, suddenly weak in the knees. What had just happened? And what was up with the whole initials thing? Alex Stanfield, Ashley Smithwurte – it was kind of weird to see someone whose name began with the exact same letters as you, but that wasn't embarrassing. Just slightly odd.

Tom found her several minutes later. He sat down on the pavement next to her and stared up at the evening sky. "Did Alex cancel on you?" he asked, sounding hopeful.

"No," she sighed. "He didn't."

"That's too bad."

She drew her legs up to her chest and rested her chin on her knees. What could embarrass Ashley? She didn't seem overly concerned about much of anything (at least, not that Celia could see), but evidently something about Alex did. Changing her name would be humiliating. Ashley . . . . Smithwurte . . . Stanfield.

No.

Celia's head shot up. "You've got to be kidding," she said slowly. "What a scumbag. I can't believe he would do that."

Tom looked at her curiously. "What are you talking about?"

"What a jerk!" She jumped to her feet and started pacing furiously in front of Jaime's. "I can't believe I even _considered_ – "

"Whoa, hold on there." Tom placed his hand on her shoulder. His face was pale in the glow of the sign above the door. "Did Alex do something to you? Did he hurt you?"

"No, I'm fine. Just extremely ticked off. How could I be so _stupid_!" she shouted, wrenching herself out of Tom's grasp only to start pacing again. "What else has he done?"

"Celia!" Tom grabbed her waist and pinned her against his chest. "What's going on? Do you need me to kill Alex for you?" He sounded strangely eager.

"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped before sagging into him. "How could I have been so stupid?" she asked herself again. What else was she missing?

"Cancel on him tomorrow," Tom said suddenly. "I'll take you to the House of Blues. Or we can ditch him and do something else. Just the two of us."

Unbidden, the memory of Alex angry before May's party came to her mind and she shuddered. "I can't," she told him. "If I don't . . . "

Tom's hands turned her around so he could see her face. "You're not telling me something. Something important. What is it?"

For a split second Celia considered telling him everything, but for some reason she couldn't. If Alex was really as bad as she thought he was, and she was pretty sure he might be even worse, she didn't want Tom knowing that she'd been gullible enough to go out with a guy like Alex. They were just beginning to start over. The last thing she wanted was for Tom to see her as an irresponsible, lovesick child who couldn't make up her own mind. Again.

"I can't tell you," she said miserably.

"Try me." Tom's eyes flashed at her, and his grip tightened around her waist.

"I can't. Not tonight." Celia suddenly felt very tired and very, very alone. At that moment the only thing she wanted in life was to hide in her bed. "Will you take me home? I don't feel so well."

Tom stared at her for a long time before releasing his hold on her. "I'll do what you want this time," he said, his voice flat, "but I'll expect some answers from you. And soon."

He walked her to her door and waited until she had unlocked it before turning to walk away. Impulsively, Celia grabbed his arm. "Tom," she said slowly, "thanks for understanding. I promise I'll tell you what's going on when I can."

He gave her a weak smile and brushed a lock of hair off her forehead. "I certainly hope so." His hand lingered on her cheek, and she closed her eyes at the touch. He bent over and whispered, "You know I'll come if you need me." Then he kissed her on the forehead, stroked her hair, and was gone.

***

That night Celia dreamed of Alex. He walked toward her, pulling something large and red behind him. When he stood in front of her he leered at her before stepping back to reveal a huge suitcase with rude words written all over it. He laughed at her when she tried to run away, but as usually happens in dreams, her feet refused to take her away. She screamed in fear when he bent to unzip the suitcase, revealing Ashley folded up inside.

Celia's eyes flew open and she blinked, confused at the bright light streaming through the windows. Her breath was shallow and ragged, like she'd been running a marathon. She sat up and put a hand to her forehead, trying to calm her racing heart. It was just a dream. After tonight, she'd never have to see Alex again. She wasn't sure exactly how that she was going to manage that, but there was no way she'd ever accept another invitation from him again.

Her thoughts were muddled as she went about her morning routine and strolled around the park. When she returned to sit on the front step of her building she was exhausted and wishing she'd never heard the name Stanfield before. "I should have known he was a loser," she muttered to herself. "He didn't even know what 'holy cow' meant."

"Are you talking to yourself?" Celia jumped in alarm at the sound of Jen's amused voice.

Celia bent over and rested her head in her hands. "Are you trying to kill me?" she asked pointedly. "You really shouldn't sneak up on people like that."

Jen looked at her strangely. "What's wrong with you? You look like you haven't slept at all."

Shaking her head, Celia got to her feet. "I had a very disturbing dream last night," she told her. Catching Jen's curious expression, she went on to tell her about it. "What's even worse is that part of it is true. I talked to Alex yesterday and he's evidently either engaged or married to Ashley."

Jen's jaw dropped. "No way. How did you get him to tell you?"

Celia related their conversation of the evening before, and before she knew it Jen was holding her sides and laughing. "You've got to be kidding me," she gasped, wiping her eyes. "I think it's very fitting. Ashley should put her new initials on all her things, not just her luggage. No one could say she didn't warn them beforehand."

Celia smiled briefly. "I guess you're right. It is kind of funny."

Jen linked their arms together and walked her down the street to where Scott was struggling, one-armed, to get several bags out of the trunk of their car. "We came to help you get ready for the big night," she said. "Although it doesn't look like it's a big deal anymore. At least you can get all gussied up for Tom."

Once they were inside Scott sank into the couch and turned on the television, studiously ignoring the sounds coming from the bedroom. It didn't take Jen long to get ready; after all, as she told Celia, she didn't need to shine, and anyway, it would most likely be dim inside. She sat Celia down in front of the bathroom mirror and arranged and rearranged her hair. After being poked in the head for the third time, Celia protested.

"That's good enough," she said, turning away from the mirror and standing up. "I don't really care what Alex thinks of my appearance, anyway."

"But you care about Tom's reaction," Jen said slyly.

Celia turned her head in a vain attempt to hide the blush that was warming her cheeks. She couldn't remember the last time she'd blushed so much in a weeks' time. "I think I should get dressed," she said, looking at the clock. "We've only got half an hour, assuming he's on time."

Jen followed her into the bedroom and sat on the bed when Celia disappeared into the closet. "I still can't believe he's serious with Ashley," she called through the open door. "Are you going to slap him tonight?"

"I might," Celia called back. "At the very least I'm going to tell him never to call me again."

"I bet Tom will be heartbroken about that."

Celia laughed. "He offered to kill him for me last night. It was very tempting."

Jen reached over and grabbed Celia's cell phone from the night stand. "Hey, you never emailed me Alex's picture. If he's as cute as you say I want to be prepared when he comes to pick you up."

Celia came out of the closet, the dress Cassie had given her hanging unzipped from her shoulders. "Can you do me up?" she asked. "I can't reach all the way."

Jen stood and handed the phone to her before zipping the dress. "That looks stunning on you," she said, an admiring note in her voice. "Please tell me that Cassie's going into fashion. She'd make a great personal shopper."

"She would, wouldn't she? And that way she could spend other people's money instead of Michael's. He'd be thrilled."

Jen watched as Celia scrolled through the pictures on her phone. She whistled under her breath when Celia stopped at Alex. "So this is the famous Alex Stanfield," she said slowly. "You weren't kidding. The man is beautiful."

There was a sudden crash outside the room, and seconds later Scott was standing in the doorway, the color drained from his face. "Did you just say Alex's last name is Stanfield?"

Both of them turned to stare at him. "Yes," Jen said, running over and grabbing his arm. "Are you all right? You look pale. Maybe we need to make an appointment to see the doctor."

Scott shook his head. "Alex Stanfield is the person who was stealing from your father," he said, staring straight at Celia. "I'd just figured that out when that guy came crashing around the corner with a gun."

Celia sank down onto the bed. "How do you know?" she whispered.

Scott shook his head as though he was trying to jar things into place. "His name was on a few records," he said slowly, "and I did a little detective work. He's been pretty careful, but a few times he slipped up. I'm sorry I didn't remember until just now." He stared at Celia as a light seemed to go on in his head. "You're dating him!" he cried. "Why would you do that?"

Jen grabbed the phone from Celia's numb fingers and handed it to her husband. "Because he was charming and gorgeous. Look at the guy. I'd go out with him if he asked me."

Scott glanced down at the picture in Jen's hand and blanched. "That can't be," he muttered, holding onto the door frame for support. "There's no way you could be dating him."

He looked up, his eyes wide with shock. "That's the guy that shot me. I'd recognize that hat anywhere."

***

After they'd calmed down enough to talk rationally, Celia called a war council. They sat on her bed and discussed what they were going to do.

"The first thing," Jen said in a decisive voice, "is to contact Detective Patterson. I say we let him take care of Alex for us."

Scott handed her his phone wordlessly, and Jen left the room to make the call.

Celia sighed. "What I can't figure out is why he did it in the first place. I was under the impression that he had a lot of money of his own."

Scott shrugged and leaned back against the headboard. "From what I could tell he'd gone through a bit of money his father had left him. Maybe he watched his bank balance shrink and thought this would be a good way to supplement his income."

"Well, he certainly went through Henry's fast enough." Celia clutched a pillow to her chest.

Jen came back into the room, looking very irritated. "Mr. Stiff Upper Lip isn't answering his phone," she announced before flopping down next to her husband. "I say we ambush him when he gets here."

"No way." Celia's voice was firm. "He can't see either one of you. He'd know Scott the minute he saw you and he'd run – or worse. I'll go with him when he comes to get me. I'll be fine," she said at Jen's squawk of protest. "Tom will be there, and you can send Patterson over when you get him on the phone.

"But the real question is, how did he know to find you, Scott? I didn't tell anyone I'd asked for your help, not even Cassie."

"You must have told someone," Scott said matter of factly. "He's a thief and a killer, not a mind reader."

Celia closed her eyes and tried to remember. "The only time we've discussed it was in Cassie's apartment. And then you called while I was on Mackinac Island . . . " Her voice trailed off as a memory floated to the surface of her mind. She could almost see the waves crashing on the shore. "You called after I got a flat tire. Alex was there; I remember, because it was the first time we met. I don't think I said anything about you in particular . . . "

She'd hung up the phone, and Alex had been hovering next to her. He'd been so kind, offering to help. _"Are you sure there's nothing I can do? I can try to track down this . . . who were you talking to again?"_

_"Scott Tennant. He's my best friend's husband."_

Celia opened her eyes and stared, horrified, into the eyes of the man she'd almost gotten killed. She clapped her hand over her mouth, ran to the bathroom, and threw up, mascara running down her cheeks as she cried.

Jen was remarkably understanding when Celia told her, in a halting voice, what she had done. "There's no way you could have known," she said reasonably, rubbing Celia's back as she sat on the floor in front of the toilet. "I probably would have done the same thing."

"But he almost _killed_ Scott. I could have made you a _widow_."

"It was Alex, not you, honey." Jen leaned her head against Celia's back as she hugged her. "You didn't do anything but fall victim to a smooth-talking man. I don't doubt he's done that before, Ashley or no Ashley."

Scott suddenly called urgently from the bedroom. "What time's he supposed to be getting here? It's five of. You'd better clean yourself up, or he'll suspect something."

Celia got shakily to her feet and stumbled out of the room. She swallowed hard when she looked at Scott, who was gazing sympathetically at her. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I know that won't take away any of the – "

"Oh, stop it," Scott said. "Just think of the great story I'll be able to tell my kids someday. I may even convince them that I'm really Titanium Man, Super-Hero in disguise."

"I don't think so, hon." Jen shook her head at her husband and kissed him on the cheek. "Your Wonder Wife needs to get Cinderella ready for the ball. I've got – " she checked her watch quickly – "three minutes."

Celia was scrubbed and presentable at two minutes after eight. Jen and Scott had agreed to remain upstairs, listening for any signs of trouble below. "I'll text you when I hear from Patterson," Jen whispered as Celia ran down the stairs when Alex knocked on the door. "And please, don't let Tom abandon you. He's not likely to be happy to see he's the only one crashing your date with his arch-enemy."

Suddenly worried that Tom would turn around and leave when he saw her alone with Alex, she sent him a quick message: _Jen and Scott not coming. Please show anyway._

Hoping he wouldn't be too angry, she took a deep breath. Her heart seemed to be beating twice as hard as normal, but she plastered a smile on her face and opened the door. "Hi, Alex," she said in a voice pitched only slightly higher than usual. "Are you ready to go?"

Alex placed his hands on the doorframe and leaned in to get a good look at her. "I knew you'd be stunning all dressed up," he drawled. His eyes roamed over her body, pausing too long at parts she'd rather he not notice. She tugged the hem of her dress down, thinking that the next time Cassie chose something for her she'd make sure it was long enough. "I think I'm going to enjoy our night out very, very much." His eyes glittered as he held the door open for her. When he placed his hand just below the small of her back to guide her to his car she almost shivered in revulsion.

Fortunately Alex wasn't in a talkative mood on the way into the city, but his hand on the gearshift grazed her bare knee whenever he shifted. He glanced at her the second time it happened, a sly smile on his face. "Are you sure you want to go out tonight?" he asked, taking a corner a little too fast. "We could just go back to your place and . . . entertain ourselves if you'd prefer."

Celia tried not to inch away from his fingers too obviously. "No, I'd rather go out. Did Jeff tell you last night that I'd invited a friend or two to come?"

Alex frowned, and the accelerator inched even higher. "No, he didn't." His words were clipped and angry. "When did you call?"

She opened her mouth to tell him that he'd called her, not the other way around, but thought better of it. "You were at a party, and your buddy picked up your phone. I'm sorry; he told me he'd pass on the message."

He screeched to a halt and threw the keys at the valet attendant. "Whatever. Let's get inside before all these 'friends' of yours descend on us."

Celia let him pull her, none too gently, inside the crowded club and to a table hidden in a corner. She checked her phone while Alex called a waiter to their table. There was no text from Jen, but she was surprised to see that Claudia had left her a voice mail. She wondered why Claudia was calling her. She didn't know her sister even had her phone number.

She was about to listen to it when Alex grabbed her wrist. "I ordered you a glass of wine," he informed her, jerking his head at the waiter. Celia caught the man's eye and mouthed "ginger ale, please" when Alex turned his head to look into the crowded room. She wondered if he was looking for someone, and hoped fervently that Ashley wouldn't materialize. She didn't think she could handle both of them at the same time.

"What did you order for yourself?" she asked suddenly. Hadn't Jeff the frat boy told her that Alex couldn't hold his liquor? Maybe, if she was really sly, she could get him talking before Detective Patterson came.

"A beer. I didn't think you'd want one."

Celia made a face. "Heck, no. I don't see how you can drink the stuff. It even smells nasty."

Alex started to laugh. "Maybe you'll like it when you try a decent brew."

She shook her head. "I doubt it."

The waiter set a wine glass in front of Celia a few minutes later. When she looked at him accusingly – hadn't he got the message that she wasn't drinking tonight? – he winked at her and gave Alex a beer. She relaxed against the back of the chair. With any luck the only person who'd be losing some of their inhibitions would be Alex.

She spotted Tom as soon as he entered the room. He stopped in his tracks when he noticed her companion and rolled his eyes. He came to their table slowly and sat next to Celia, his face set. "I thought Jen was coming," he said, looking at Alex with distaste. "I'd hate to be the third wheel."

"Yeah, well, you are, Elliot. Get lost." Alex sat up and folded his arms across his chest. Celia wished she could tell how much of his beer was left.

Her phone buzzed with an incoming message, and Tom grabbed it out of her hand. He read the text quickly before giving it back to her. "I guess Patterson's on his way," he said, smiling at Alex with false sincerity. "I guess I won't be the only one intruding in half an hour or so."

"How many guys did you invite?" Alex asked her, ignoring Tom as best as he could. "You must be more adventuresome than I thought. The librarian image you portray is very convincing." He leered at her. Tom's jaw tightened in response, and Alex laughed.

Tom turned to Celia abruptly. "Since when did you start drinking?" His voice was accusing, and he lifted her glass to sniff its contents. His eyes widened, and he looked at her in surprise. "This isn't – " He yelped when she jabbed her heel into his foot, but he stopped talking and put the glass down. Celia tried not to sigh in relief.

Tom stared hard at her before he got up and announced that he was going to find his own drink. A few seconds after he'd disappeared her phone buzzed again. This time the message was from Tom. She hid the phone under the table and opened it.

_What's going on? Where are Jen and Scott? And who's Patterson?_

Celia glanced up at Alex. He was staring moodily into his can and swirling the contents around. From the sound of the sloshing inside, it was nearly empty.

_I can't explain right now, _she sent back._ I told Jen and Scott to stay home. Too dangerous._

_What?!_

Celia cursed herself for typing that last part. It was harder than she thought keeping two conversations going at the same time. _Never mind. Please don't antagonize him, and tell the waiter to bring another beer. I think Alex needs one._

Tom emerged from the corner on the other side of the room and sat at a table behind Alex. He looked furious, but at least he'd done as she'd asked. The waiter grinned at her when he brought their menus and another beer for Alex, who didn't seem surprised to see it.

"You're awfully quiet," Alex said suddenly after they'd placed their orders. "Is something wrong? You're usually much more talkative."

"I'm sorry; I was thinking about something a friend told me the other day. We could talk if you'd like."

Alex seemed to think about this for a minute longer than necessary. She hoped he was feeling the effects of the alcohol. "Tell me about your father," he told her. "From what I've heard, he's a very unusual sort of man."

I bet you've heard all sorts of things about him, Celia thought to herself. She smiled brightly and did her best Cassie impression, chattering away about her childhood. She glanced at the door every few seconds, wondering what was taking the detective so long. He'd better not be stuck in traffic.

Their dinners, and another drink, arrived halfway through one of her stories. She was glad for the excuse to stop talking; surely Alex wasn't interested in her childhood. No, she thought, he's interested in finding out if Henry has enough intelligence to figure out what's been going on under his very nose.

She kept her head bent over her plate for most of the meal and listened to Alex, who seemed to be rambling about the party he'd attended the night before. She glanced up at him. He was a little more relaxed than he had been at the beginning of their date, but she wasn't sure if that was because he was drunk or because Tom was no longer annoying him. She looked behind Alex and groaned silently when she saw Tom's empty table.

"Will you excuse me for a minute?" she asked in her sweetest Cassie voice. "I need to powder my nose."

Alex waved her away and signaled for another drink. Breathing deeply, she walked out of the room in search of Tom.

She found him near the front door. He was staring out into the darkness, his hands in his pockets. He turned to her when she spoke his name.

"I don't suppose you came to tell me why you asked me here tonight." It wasn't a question.

Celia sighed and squeezed her eyes shut. The noise in the building was starting to give her a headache. "Not now," she admitted. "Why did you leave?"

He gave a bark of laughter. "I was sick of seeing you flirt with another man. He doesn't seem all that dangerous, by the way," he went on conversationally. "Creepy and annoying, but not dangerous."

Celia's eyes flashed. She hadn't liked seeing him flirt with Lauren, either, but this was not the time to discuss his past love interests. "Tom, please. I need you to stay."

He looked straight into her eyes. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't go out that door right now."

Celia could think of any number of reasons, none of which she could go into right then. "Can't you just trust me?"

"You keep saying that." He rubbed the back of his neck and exhaled loudly. "Fine, I'll come back. But you've got to give me a minute. I'm starting to feel nauseous."

Celia stood on her toes and hugged him fiercely. "Thank you," she breathed in his ear, her cheek touching his. She turned her head and kissed him lingeringly on the cheek. He caught his breath and looked at her with wide, startled eyes. She left him staring at her retreating back, his hands hanging limply at his sides.

When she sat back down across from Alex he was smiling pleasantly and playing with his spoon. "I'm glad you're back," he said. "I was beginning to feel lonely."

"There was a long line for the bathroom," she told him.

"Stinks to be a woman."

Celia cracked a smile. "You got that right."

Celia's phone vibrated in her hand_. Patterson here. I'm at the table behind the suspect. Try to get him to talk._

She glanced up to see the detective hunched over a pad of paper. He appeared to be taking notes.

Why is it always up to the woman? Celia wondered before looking at Alex again. He hadn't seemed to notice their lapse in conversation. And since when am I Cecilia Fuller, girl detective? She'd hated Nancy Drew as a child. It all seemed to fall into place too easily – and there was always a handsome boyfriend to fish her out when things got too hot. Her handsome boyfriend (well, that was a term she was still working on) was glowering at her across the room, not looking like he was in the mood for fishing at all.

She thought for a moment. What would be the best way to get him started without seeming obvious? "I've been thinking recently about going on a trip. What do you think of Tahiti? I need to talk to someone who's been there recently, but I don't know anyone."

Alex's eyes lit up. "I took Ashley to Tahiti for our honeymoon not too long ago," he informed her. "It was beautiful. Of course, we didn't see much more than the hotel room."

Celia clapped her hand over her mouth and tried not to gag. No wonder he'd been late for their trip to Gino's. He'd been busy with his wife.

_Keep going; you're doing great. Take a deep breath and think happy thoughts, then get back to work._

Celia rolled her eyes. _What, am I having a baby?_

Patterson didn't text her back.

"How did you afford a trip to Tahiti? I imagine it's pretty expensive."

Alex leaned back in his chair, making it impossible for anyone to sit across from Patterson. "I borrowed a bit of money from someone."

"That was very clever of you."

Alex smiled, satisfied with himself. "I didn't exactly tell them I was borrowing it. That's what makes the whole plan so great. I don't have to pay the money back."

Maybe not right away, Celia thought with satisfaction. "Aren't you worried about getting caught?"

Alex laughed loudly at this. "Are you kidding? The guy's a total basket case. He wouldn't notice if I'd moved into his upstairs bedroom."

Celia closed her eyes, praying to the god that watches over negligent fathers that that hadn't actually happened. "So what else did you buy with the money you borrowed from him?"

He picked at the sleeve of his shirt and grinned. "Everything, baby. A car, swanky clothes, an engagement ring, you name it."

That was ironic in a sick sort of way, Celia mused. Henry had bought the ring that tied Ashley to another man, all the while thinking that he had a chance with her. She hoped he never figured that out. "That must have been a lot of money."

Alex looked surprised at the question. "Well, I've been doing it for several years, ever since you left for college. It was very convenient of you to leave when you did." He stopped talking to gulp down the rest of his drink. "I ran through my inheritance faster than I thought, and Henry was so handy. Loaded and stupid at the same time. It was ridiculously easy to do. And then I met you in Michigan, and I knew that I had to keep you quiet. It didn't hurt that you're hot."

Blinking in surprise, Celia couldn't think of a response to that. Had he really said that out loud? He must be drunker than she thought; either that or he was beyond caring what she thought of him. Assuming, of course, that he'd cared to begin with. She looked around the room, hoping no one but Detective Patterson was hearing this part of the confession. A person lurking in the shadows caught her attention, and she smiled involuntarily when she recognized Tom. He was too far away to hear what they were saying, but he stood there and glared at Alex like he could skin him and feed him to the pigs for breakfast.

She shook her head at him and turned her attention back to Alex. "I don't imagine Ashley was too excited when you asked me out."

Alex rested his hands on the back of his head and smiled. "No, she was pretty irritated. I told her I'd make sure she got some love, and all she had to do was flirt with Henry and walk around scantily dressed. She didn't like it, but she did what she was told."

As much as she wished to deny it, Celia was drawn in by his tale. "But why? Why would she let her husband chase after some other girl?"

Alex's smile was smug. "I kept her very happy."

Celia started when her phone buzzed again. _Get back on task, Miss Fuller. Ask him about Scott._

_You know, you could be a little more helpful here. I don't have a whole lot of experience in interrogation._

Patterson looked at her over Alex's shoulder and shook his head once. _Keep going._

I can't believe this is happening, Celia thought with disbelief. When I got up this morning the last thing I thought I'd be doing today was appear in some sort of bad detective show. Shouldn't there be dark music playing in the background? "I was surprised to run into you on Mackinac Island," she said, trying to sound like the memory didn't make her sick to her stomach. "Was that just a coincidence, or did you plan to save my flat tire?"

"It was all planned, honey. I knew you were hanging out with that reporter, and when you disappeared with him I knew I had to keep an eye on the two of you. I followed you to the airport and got on the next flight to Pellston. The tire, though, was an accident. At least that time."

"What do you mean?" Celia asked, even though she was pretty sure she knew where he was going.

"I may have helped along your incident on the expressway a couple of weeks ago." Alex grinned at his own brilliance. "And I was really grateful to your banking buddy for calling when he did. It made it much easier to track him down."

Celia stared at him, revulsion written clearly all over her face. He didn't notice, though, and went on talking. "I left for Chicago that afternoon and found him at work the next day. I would have finished him off, too, but he moved at the last second and my shot was wide." His face clouded momentarily. "I really should do a better job next time. I would have checked to make sure he was dead, but I thought I heard a noise outside the office after the gun went off and I panicked. I figured he was a goner; there was all that blood, and he was on the floor . . . "

For the first time Celia was glad Scott couldn't stand the sight of his own blood. She swallowed. "And what were your plans for me?"

Alex leaned forward, his hands gripping the sides of their small table. He suddenly looked very sober. "I told Ashley I wouldn't sleep with you. We even argued about it, back before May's stupid garden party. But after all the trouble I've gone through I think I deserve a little reward." His slow smile made her shudder. "I say we go back to your place and finish this conversation where there aren't as many witnesses. Don't you agree?"

Celia froze and shook her head mutely. The reek of alcohol on his breath made her want to gagm and she swallowed hard.

"Now, now, Miss Fuller. You know you want to." He was so close that she could see a faint scar between his eyes. "You wouldn't protest after I'd finished you." Then he smashed his lips onto hers.

She was so shocked that she couldn't move for several seconds. Then she jerked away and shoved at his chest hard enough to make him fall back onto his chair, where Patterson jumped to his feet and started to read Alex his rights. She wiped her mouth with shaky fingers. "Thanks," she mumbled to the detective as he handcuffed Alex, wishing she had mouthwash to get rid of his taste.

When she looked back into Tom's corner he was gone.

***

It was several hours past midnight when Patterson showed her out of the police station. "Thank you for your statement, Miss Fuller. I'll let you know if we need anything else." The smile she gave him felt more like a grimace.

She walked into the parking lot before she remembered that she didn't have a car. Tom was supposed to be her ride home. Instead, she called Jen.

"You're where?" Jen shrieked when Celia told her where to pick her up. "Hold on; I'll be there as soon as I can."

She sat on the sidewalk, her legs stretched out on the street in front of her, and waited. Had that really just happened? She had a whole new respect for Nancy Drew; she vowed to check out all the books from the library her next free weekend.

She still couldn't believe that she'd been so gullible; Alex had really taken her for a ride. Her only consolation was that he hadn't gotten anything more from her than a few kisses, and even those were given unwillingly. Her mind refused to consider what he had planned to do with her after dinner that evening.

Jen arrived a short time later, driving Celia's car. "I hope you don't mind," she said by way of explanation, "but I figured the last thing you needed was to be alone tonight, so you're coming to my place. Scott already took our car there and is supposed to be making up the bed in the extra room."

"Can he do that with only one arm?" Celia asked tiredly, sliding into the passenger seat. A suitcase in the back seat caught her eye; she was glad Jen had thought to bring extra clothes. She never wanted to see this dress again.

Jen shrugged, apparently unconcerned. "He'll be fine. Now tell me what happened tonight."

Sighing, Celia opened her phone and dialed her voice mail. "Can you wait a second? I need to listen to Claudia's message."

Jen raised her eyebrows. "Since when does Claudia call you?"

Celia smiled faintly. "This is a night of firsts in so many ways it's not even funny."

Claudia's voice was shrill and angry. "Celia, where are you? We're in the middle of a family emergency here, and no one knows where you are! Call me as soon as you get this message."

Rolling her eyes, Celia dialed her sister's number. Claudia answered at once. "Where have you been?"

How exactly should I word this? Celia wondered. The guy that's been after me for a month is really married to your roommate, who happens to be trying to seduce our father? "I was out on a date," she settled on finally. "What's going on? Is everyone all right?"

"Well, no one's hurt, if that's what you mean. But the most distasteful thing has happened. I needed to ask Ashley a question before dinner but she wasn't around. I went upstairs to check her room and I found her – " Claudia paused dramatically -- "having sex with Alex Stanfield. You know, your boyfriend."

"He's not by boyfriend, "Celia snapped. "But I'm not terribly surprised."

"What? Why aren't you mad?"

"Because I just spent the evening getting Alex to confess to putting our family into financial ruin and shooting my best friend's husband. He also said he and Ashley got married six months ago. I don't suppose she's still there."

Jen gasped beside her and swerved, nearly hitting a mailbox.

"No. She took off as soon as Alex slunk out of the house, his trousers around his knees. She laughed when I told her we couldn't be friends any more. She seemed mad at him, though. Do you think she knew he was seeing you tonight?"

Poor, stupid Claudia. "Oh, I'm pretty sure she knew."

"Well, Alex told me not to tell you what I'd seen. He said he could make my life miserable. Can you believe that? A person like Alex, making my life miserable. Like that could ever happen."

Celia leaned her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes. "Claudia, I just told you he's been stealing money from Henry. He's the reason why we had to sell the house and the cars and most of our worldly possessions. He's very capable of ruining your life."

"Well, it's still a very rude thing to say. I should have kicked him while I had the chance. Did you know that he was living here the entire time, holed up in Ashley's bedroom?"

Could this get any worse? "Doesn't anyone ever go in there?"

Claudia gave a very indelicate snort. "No, she always kept the door locked. Said she didn't want to make us uneasy by looking at all of her discount-store clothes."

Celia looked out the window. Maybe gullibility ran in the family. "Well, if she left anything behind you can probably keep it. Henry paid for it one way or another."

Claudia's voice suddenly changed. "I may need to go back in there," she mused. "I didn't want to go back to the scene of the crime, but there was this pair of shoes . . . " Her voice trailed off. "I better get going." Celia could hear her run up the stairs before Claudia remembered to hang up the phone.

Jen stopped in front of her building and turned off the engine. She unbuckled her seat belt, took the phone out of Celia's hand, and pulled her into her arms. Celia sobbed on her friend's shoulder, letting all the tension and fear and anger of the evening drain out of her. She followed Jen into the spare bedroom half an hour later and shrugged out of her dress before falling into bed. If she had any dreams, she didn't remember them in the morning.

***

The next day Jen and Scott went out of their way to be calm and cheerful. They wouldn't think of letting Celia leave, insisting that she stay with them at least until work began on Monday. After a token protest Celia agreed and spent the rest of the day reading and talking with her friends. If they noticed when she lapsed into silence, staring out onto the street, they wisely didn't say anything.

Both of them had to leave earlier than she did Monday morning, so Celia made them a quick breakfast to thank them for their support. She followed them to the door, promising to lock up before she left, and Scott tossed the day's newspaper at her when he walked down the steps. "Just leave it on the table," he called over his shoulder.

Celia took it into the kitchen, wondering if she had the nerve to read Tom's column. She didn't know if she wanted to see what he had to say. Maybe he wouldn't say anything at all.

The mid-morning sun was streaming into the family room when she sank onto the couch an hour later, the paper in her hands. Almost of their own volition her fingers turned the front page. Tom's picture smiled innocently up at her.

_Trust_

_by Thomas Elliot_

_Faith is a funny thing. We usually equate the word with religion as a belief in something greater than ourselves, but there's more to it than that. Take, for instance, the average Cubs fan._

_Each person who cares whether the Cubs win or lose knows the phrase "There's always next year", and each of them begins each new season with varying degrees of faith in their team's performance. Dear old Webster defines faith as "a firm belief in something for which there is no proof", and since the Cubs haven't won the World Series in over a hundred years, and haven't been to one in sixty three, this seems a perfectly valid example of faith._

_But what happens when that faith is tested? It seems each year brings about its own set of setbacks and obstacles, and "there's always next year" can be said with validity at any given point in a season. Some years are dismal, and we say it in April. Sometimes we're luckier, and it isn't heard until September. And during still others we bite our tongues and hold our breaths to the very last game of regular season play, only to moan about it over our beers in the playoffs. _

_No matter when we say the dreaded words, however, we always come back for spring training with newfound hope in our hearts. I wish I knew why this was; it would certainly save me hours of heartache if I could just accept the fact that the Cubs are, as so many unbelievers say, lovable losers._

_Do we place the same degree of faith in our loved ones as we do in our beloved baseball team? A friend has asked me repeatedly, over the course of the past few days, to sit back, do nothing, and simply trust her. This seems like an easy thing to do; after all, I find most people trustworthy, and the ones I don't I tend to avoid like the plague. Although, as I have recently learned, it's hard to have faith in a person that insists on associating with one of the lowest forms of life on the planet._

_I was at a restaurant this weekend and happened across my friend eating dinner with the creepiest man I've ever had the displeasure of knowing. When I questioned her about this, wondering if he'd spiked her drink or hypnotized her or was blackmailing her, the only answer I received was that she couldn't tell me what she was doing, and that I'd just have to trust her._

_That was easy for her to say. I stood there and watched as she talked with him, her face alive with curiosity. When I caught her eye she just shook her head and went back to her discussion, and I left when the scum that was polluting her table leaned over and kissed her. It seems trust and faith can only go so far._

_But now I wonder at my actions. Webster's defines trust, a word similar in meaning to faith, as "assured reliance on the character, ability, strength, or truth of someone or something". I know this girl's character. I know her abilities and strengths. And I know she would never lie to hurt another. Now I am left wondering if I did the right thing. She placed such importance on my presence there, and I fear I have let her down._

_So as soon as I can find her I'll tell her I was sorry, and that I trust her with my life, and that she can trust me with hers. "There's always next year" only applies in baseball. It doesn't have anything to do with the heart._

_I should know. It's been seven years, and next year is finally here. Now all that's left to do is maintain my present course and persevere._

_It would help if the jerk across the table hadn't kissed her, though._

Author's Note: Special thanks have to go to Linnea this week, for making sure poor Samuel Coleridge doesn't roll over in his grave. I appreciate the suggestions, and hope my changes helped a little.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed; I love reading them! And Farrah, you are the best reviewer on the planet. It's not everyone who'll comment on the same story on two sites. Thanks for the kind words.

Now, send me all your comments!


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Celia threw the paper on the couch and stood up, fuming. What right did Tom think he had to abandon her when she'd told him, on more than one occasion, that she wasn't dating Alex? Hadn't he seen that Alex had been the one to initiate the kiss? And why hadn't he trusted her enough to stick around an extra ten seconds? Then he wouldn't have had to write yet another apology column. She was getting sick of them.

She paced around Jen's apartment, gathering her things and trying to shake her annoyance. After showering she stuffed everything in the bag Jen had packed for her and left a note on the kitchen table thanking Jen and Scott for their help and promising to fix them dinner. She wasn't sure they'd take her up on the offer; she may be a better cook than Cassie was, but Jen could bake her out of the kitchen in her sleep.

It was when she was searching through her purse for her car keys that she realized her cell phone was missing. She stopped and thought for a moment. She'd had it in the car when Jen picked her up from the police station, and hadn't used it since. Celia groaned and raced through the apartment, looking all over for the thing. She used to laugh at people who'd walk around the city with their ear glued to an electronic device, questioning why they couldn't just leave it at home, and now she was the one panicking when it had disappeared -- at home. She'd laugh at the irony of the situation if she wasn't in such a hurry.

She was already twenty minutes late when she got in the car, the phone still missing. There was no way she'd make it to her first story hour on time, and if she was late for the first one she'd be running behind schedule for the rest of the day. Once she was on the freeway she drove as fast as she dared, praying that any police officers on duty wouldn't be patrolling her route that morning.

When she ran, breathless, through the doors of the first branch she'd visit that day, she smiled a greeting at the girl behind the circulation desk and had almost made it into the children's section when the girl called out to her. "Are you Celia Fuller?"

Celia turned reluctantly around. She could already see ten toddlers in various states of annoyance pulling books randomly off the shelves in an attempt to get some attention. "That's me," she said.

"I'm sorry," the girl apologized. "I should probably know you, but you're pretty new, aren't you? A man came by a while ago and asked if you were supposed to be in today."

For a split second Celia didn't move. Then she remembered that the only person who wanted to hurt her was safely locked in a jail cell at the other side of the city. "Do you know who it was?"

The girl rifled through some papers on the table. "Some guy named Tom Elliot. Hey, isn't he the one that writes those columns? You know, the ones about the girl that dumped him in high school."

Celia inched toward the now screaming toddlers. "I have no idea."

"Wait a minute." The girl's eyes narrowed. "He went to story hour just last week. Now he's running around trying to find our story lady. You wouldn't happen to be the girl he's been writing about, would you?"

Now in full panic mode, Celia shook her head. "Nice try," she said over her shoulder as she hurried to start her first assignment of the day. The girl just stared at her before picking up the phone.

Two hours and three extra books later, the last child of the group walked out of the room clutching a book and a lollipop that she kept in her work bag for emergencies. She only had time to repack her supplies before she was on the road again, half an hour late for her second round.

It was like that the rest of the day. She would run into a library, always at least ten minutes behind schedule, and greet the clerk manning the circulation desk. The girl would tell her that Tom had stopped by and asked for her, and then she'd get the third degree about how she knew him. She'd only been to four branches that day, but by the time she was ready to go home it was nearly dinner time and her head was aching and she was reconsidering her ideas of having children. They'd made her four story hours feel more like ten. And what had Tom been doing all day? Had he gone to every single branch of the Chicago Public Library in eight hours? Why hadn't he just called the main office and asked for her schedule? It would have saved him an awful lot of time.

After she'd stopped at the grocery store and parked in front of her apartment she was ready to let her cell phone spend the night in the car. Then she thought about Tom, and wondered if he'd been trying to reach her all day. It really would be rude to completely ignore him, especially after he'd gone through so much trouble to find her. After digging around in the forbidden recesses of the car she pulled it from its hiding spot under the front seat, along with sixty cents in loose change. The battery was dead and she stuck it in her pocket to recharge inside, but at least she was halfway to buying a bottle of water for lunch the next day.

Once she was inside the building Celia let her feet carry her down the hall, not really paying attention to her surroundings. She fished in her pocket for her key, trying not to drop several bags of groceries, when she sensed a movement in the dim light next to her. Startled, she looked up only to be pulled into a bone-crushing embrace.

"Don't ever do that to me again." Tom's relieved voice rumbled in her ear.

She momentarily let herself relax into his chest before pushing away back to look at him. "What are you doing here?" she asked, setting the bags on the ground.

Tom looked at her incredulously. "What do you mean? I've been searching the city for you for two days. I figured if you were still alive you'd have to come home eventually. Didn't you get any of my messages?"

Celia stared at him blankly. "Well, I know that every time I walked into a library today you'd preceded me by an hour or so. And my cell phone is dead," she added hastily before jamming her key into the doorknob and pushing it open.

He followed her into the apartment, carrying the bags she had abandoned to the kitchen. "When you get it charged up you'll have thirty messages from me over the past two days." He set them on the table and started to put her things away.

"You don't have to do that," she protested.

"Yes, I do. I need something to do to keep my mind off the fact that for the past couple of days I've been thinking that you were lying in a ditch somewhere," he said tersely.

Celia grabbed a loaf of bread out of his hands. "What would I be doing in a ditch?"

Tom laughed mirthlessly. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe Stanfield killed you before the police got to him, and all of your friends assumed you were with someone else."

She turned to face him, her hands planted on her hips. His expression was a mixture of relief and anger. "Well, if you'd stuck around long enough you would have seen him being led away in handcuffs! Why didn't you just trust me?" she cried, throwing a can into a cabinet with unnecessary force. "I knew what I was doing."

"Yeah, sure." His mutter was almost too quiet to hear.

Celia's eyes flashed. "I did," she insisted. "Jen and Scott came over that night to help me get ready, and between the three of us we figured out what he'd been doing. All you had to do was stick around and make sure I didn't get killed."

Tom's movements stilled, the refrigerator door halfway open. "You mean you knew all along that he'd tried to kill someone?" His voice was tight and disbelieving.

"Well, not all along. I had my suspicions, but I didn't know for sure that he was the one that shot Scott."

Tom turned his head slowly to stare at her. "And you still got in a car with him?"

"Obviously." Celia was starting to feel annoyed, as well as a little defensive. Couldn't he see that things had been a little out of her control?

Tom's eyes narrowed and he grabbed her shoulders. "What would you have done if he hadn't driven to the restaurant? No one would have known where you were. He could have done anything to you!" His voice was getting louder, and his grip tightened painfully around her arms. She winced.

"I didn't have time to think that far ahead!" she cried, trying to wriggle free. "Let go! That's starting to hurt!"

Tom let his hands drop so fast she suspected he'd been burned by the contact. He walked past her into the sitting room and stared out the window. Without turning to look at her, he muttered, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

Celia closed the refrigerator and rolled her shoulders to release some of the tension. "I know you didn't, but you've got to be gentler. You've gotten a lot stronger since high school."

When he turned around his hand was over his eyes. "That's still no excuse."

"No, it's not." She knew she should give him a break, but she was still ticked off. "You know, I thought that once we were at the House of Blues I'd be safe. Jen called Patterson, and you were there – "

Tom's hand slipped from his face. "Wait a minute. Who's Patterson?"

No wonder he's not a reporter, Celia thought. "_Detective_ Patterson was in charge of investigating Scott's shooting. He showed up just as I was getting Alex to spill his guts."

Tom looked up at the ceiling, his lips moving wordlessly. It appeared that he was counting to ten. "And how, pray tell, did you manage to do that? Did you spike the drink I ordered for you?"

Celia smirked, remembering Alex's quick descent into drunkenness. "No, I just made sure he had the right amount of alcohol."

Tom's gaze snapped back to her. "So you were with an extorting, murderous drunk."

"No, I _thought_ I was with you, but you left right when I needed you. Why didn't you stick around?" she repeated, glaring at him.

He sank into an overstuffed chair and leaned forward, his head in his hands. "It wasn't very pleasant to watch you kiss another man."

Celia snorted. "I didn't kiss him; he kissed me. There's a huge difference. And it's not like you haven't been doing your share of extra-curricular activities, you know. How do you explain Lauren?"

Tom didn't move, but his voice had a guilty tinge to it when he responded. "Lauren . . . was a mistake."

Celia shook her head in disbelief. She stalked back into the kitchen and folded up the empty bags, shoving them under the sink. "So it's okay for you to flirt with someone like Lauren and let her hang all over you, but the first time you see me with another man it's a crime." Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

"That's hardly the same thing, and you know it," Tom said. He'd followed her into the kitchen and, ignoring her glare, grabbed a glass from a cabinet. He filled it with water from the tap and took a long drink. "Lauren's too self-absorbed to really hurt anyone. I knew Stanfield was bad news the moment I laid eyes on him. No one looks at you like that unless they want something." He placed the glass on the counter and leaned against the wall.

"You could say the same thing about Lauren. She had dollar signs written all over her face when she batted her eyes at you."

"I know she had dollar signs. I never could figure out why; I don't make nearly enough money to support her."

Celia was very tempted to throw the rest of his water over his head. "And yet you allowed her to flirt shamelessly with you."

Tom's eyes flashed at that, and he took a step toward her. "You let Stanfield put his mouth on you," he spat. "Tell me, was that the first time he'd kissed you, or was it a repeat performance?"

Celia gasped in indignation. "That's none of your business."

His jaw clenched, but he didn't say anything. He just stared at her, his eyes furious. For the first time that evening she noticed the shadows under his eyes and the growth on his chin. He looked like he hadn't slept in days.

They stood there for a minute, breathing heavily and scowling at each other. When Tom finally spoke again his tone was cold and expressionless.

"Why didn't you tell me about Stanfield to begin with? I would have been happy to help you bring him down."

Hesitating, Celia moved around him to sit at the table. She sketched idly with a pad of paper she'd left there, trying to think clearly. "Alex was my mistake, not yours," she said finally, her gaze fixed on her drawing. "It was my family that he'd taken advantage of, and it was my responsibility to take care of it."

"You told Jen and Scott." Some of the control had slipped, and an accusing edge seeped back into his voice.

"Yeah, well, Alex wasn't that threatening to begin with. He was too smooth. And Jen was around to see what was happening. You were taking care of your girlfriend in another state." Celia's voice wasn't reproachful, but Tom stiffened anyway.

"Like you said, Lauren was my mistake, not yours." He paused. "I bet May was thrilled to see the two of you together at her precious party."

Celia grimaced. "Thrilled isn't the word for it."

"What made her happier, the fact that Alex was loaded or that it was her idea to get you together?"

Celia stared at him on confusion. "What are you talking about?"

Tom glared at her. "Oh, come on, Celia. I know May didn't like me. She didn't even like the idea of me. If I'd been some rich snob like Stanfield she wouldn't have convinced you to dump me."

Celia dropped the paper on the table with a small thud and got to her feet. Tom stepped toward her, stopping at the other end of the table. "May had nothing to do with our breakup," she said angrily. "Why can't you see that? She talked to me, yes. She was worried that you were after my money. I told her she was delusional. Then she said we were pretty young to be getting married. She was right about that, at least. I _was_ young. I needed to grow up. And from the way you've been acting, I daresay you did, too."

"I was old enough to know what I wanted." Tom was almost shouting by this time, and he leaned over, his arms spread across the table.

"And what was that, Tom? Someone to write about in the paper?" she yelled back.

By this time they were so close she could almost hear his heart beat in furious rhythm with his words. "I wanted _you_. And I was devastated when you didn't want me back. You're the only reason I became a columnist – did you know that? When I wrote that first essay and switched over from being a beat reporter, it was about you. No one likes my political columns; I get hundreds of emails a week, all begging for news about you. I can't stop it."

Celia knew she should find this romantic and sweet, but she was too angry to think straight. She tore her eyes from his and placed her hands in her pockets. Feeling her cell phone, she pulled it out and stepped to the counter where she'd left her charger and plugged it in. "Well, try. I'm getting tired of reading apologetic articles you've written after doing something stupid. The next time you feel the need to say you're sorry, talk to me first. Don't write about it in the paper for everyone to see. I'm sure Lauren would love to have her personal life splashed all over the morning's news, but I don't. I'd rather live my life in blissful anonymity."

Tom's face blanched. "It's a little late for that," he said quietly. All the anger seemed to have drained out of him, and he stood up, watching her as she wandered over to the refrigerator to pull out ingredients for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. "And you'll never be anonymous. Not to me."

Celia couldn't look at him. She was tired – tired of arguing, tired of worrying about Tom's relationship with Lauren, and tired of the whole mess. "Right now, anonymous sounds pretty good." She closed the door, and when she turned back Tom was right in front of her.

"I just have one question." He placed his hands above her shoulders on the refrigerator and leaned close. She looked up at him in surprise. "When he kissed you that first time, what were you thinking?"

Startled by the question, Celia thought back to the evening of May's party. "He was trying to prove that he wasn't gay," she said slowly, placing her hands on his chest unconsciously. "A bunch of May's friends were watching from across the street, and I was wondering if they were convinced. And I was hoping it wouldn't last very long."

The corners of Tom's mouth lifted slightly for the first time that night. "You weren't thinking that that was the best kiss you'd ever received?"

She stared up at him and spoke without thinking. "Not in a million years."

He bent his elbows and leaned in so close she could feel his breath whispering against her forehead. He took a deep breath and held it for a second, then rested his cheek on top of her head. "I'm glad you're not dead," he murmured, his voice muffled by her hair.

"Me too," she whispered, closing her eyes. It felt so good to stand like that.

Tom chuckled weakly. "Promise me that the next time you get involved with a criminal you'll tell me about it. Before you become an amateur detective and almost get yourself killed."

Celia smiled. "I promise." She opened her eyes when Tom tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle a jaw-splitting yawn. "When was the last time you had a good night's sleep?" she asked, touching his face. The bristles on his chin scratched her fingers.

He leaned into her touch and closed his eyes. "I don't know," he said after thinking for a second. "Maybe seven years ago?"

"Then you'd better go home and get to bed."

Tom sighed heavily but pulled away. "Can I call you later?"

Celia led him to the door and opened it for him. "I'd like that."

He hugged her fiercely before walking down the hall. He was whistling, off-key, when he pulled the front door closed behind him.

***

When Celia got out of bed the next morning her cell phone was fully charged and bursting with messages that she hadn't had the energy to listen to the night before. She listened to them as she ate breakfast, vowing never to lose it again. It was simpler just to answer the phone.

Tom had, in fact, called her, and most of the messages filling her inbox were from him. She picked up a pencil and kept a tally on her napkin of his calls. As she listened to the weekend tick away in cell phone cyberspace, she could hear his voice change – from polite disinterest on Saturday night to worry and apprehension on Sunday, finally ending in pure panic Monday morning. She hoped he'd slept well that night; from the times of his voice mails, he hadn't closed his eyes in several days.

Tom must have contacted Cassie at some point in his search, because there were a few messages from her sister, too. "Tom's going nuts," Cassie's voice informed her. "If you're just dodging his calls, please let me know so I can tell him to stop wearing a path into my carpet."

The last one, left the night before, was from May. "Celia, I just got back from your father's. I must say how disappointed I am that Alex turned out so poorly. Please ring when you get this; I'd like to invite you to dinner tomorrow night. Henry and Claudia have already agreed to come."

Celia groaned and put her pencil down. She noticed idly that Tom had called her seventeen times in three days. That had to be some sort of record. There was no way to avoid May forever, she knew, so she called her aunt and waited for her to answer.

"May, this is Celia. How are Henry and Claudia doing?"

"Celia! So nice of you to call back. Your family is doing as well as can be expected; Henry blames Claudia for being inattentive, and she accuses him of being a bad money manager. They're both to blame, of course, but that doesn't help the situation any."

"Is there anything I can do?" Celia asked, hoping the answer would be no.

"The only thing I can think of is to come to dinner tonight. I'm sure they'll be thrilled to see you."

Celia resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "I don't think so," she said. "They've never really cared about my whereabouts before, and I can't imagine that would have changed just because they were victimized by a smooth-talking charmer and his wife."

May laughed a little nervously. "You're right, of course. But if you come there will be one more person who can be blamed. Will I see you at seven?"

Knowing it would be fruitless to protest, Celia agreed and got ready for work. She wondered if May had talked Cassie into dinner that night as well. She secretly hoped so; it would be more bearable if Cassie had to suffer through it, too.

She was in between sessions that afternoon when Tom called. His voice was scratchy and full of sleep when she answered.

"Celia," he said groggily. "How has your day been? Has anyone attacked you yet?"

She laughed and tucked the phone under her chin. "No, not yet. There was this one boy, though, that kept trying to look up my skirt this morning."

"He'd better be under three feet tall."

"Something like that." She couldn't keep the smile out of her voice.

"Can I see you tonight? I can make us dinner, if you're brave enough to try my cooking."

"I can't," she told him regretfully. "I already promised May I'd go to her house for dinner. Henry and Claudia will be there too, so I can't back out on her."

"That's too bad." Tom stopped talking to yawn. "I'm sorry; I've been sleeping all day. They're going to have to print a mediocre column tomorrow morning."

"Why? Has your muse fled again?"

Tom suddenly sounded wide awake. "No, I know exactly where it is for a change. The problem is that it won't let me write what I want, and I've got nothing else to talk about that's nearly as interesting."

Celia was quiet. She didn't want him to write about her anymore; it was bad enough that all the girls in the library were looking at her speculatively, whispering to each other about her supposed relationship with the good-looking columnist. But she didn't want to cost him his job, either.

"Don't worry about it, Celia," he said after a long pause. "Can we try tomorrow instead? I promise not to poison you." He sounded anxious, like he was afraid she'd tell him she didn't want to see him again.

"I'd love to come. What time would you like me?"

"Anytime," he said immediately, the relief in his voice obvious even over the phone. He cleared his throat. "That is, anytime after six, but I'd like to come and get you. If you wouldn't mind."

Celia raised her eyebrows. "This sounds awfully official."

"It is. I was hoping you'd see it as a first date of sorts, so I'd like to start off right."

She couldn't keep from laughing. "Well, in that case, I'll be ready tomorrow at six. Thanks, Tom." She grinned the rest of the afternoon.

***

The grin disappeared when she walked into May's house that evening and heard Henry's and Claudia's voices drift down the hall. They seemed to be arguing over who held the larger share of blame in Alex and Ashley's scheme to ruin them.

She closed her eyes and ran through the alphabet backward before rounding the corner into the living room, where the two of them sat at opposite ends of a couch. They glared at each other, not looking up when she sat across from them.

"Hello, May," she said, glancing at the older woman who was studiously ignoring their conversation. "Do you need any help with dinner?"

May smiled tightly and shook her head. "No, everything's all settled. The caterers have things under control."

Celia looked out the window to hide her expression. Some things would never change, but she did wonder who was doing the cooking at Henry's house. The only good thing about Ashley's presence in their home was her willingness to prepare their meals. No wonder Henry and Claudia had been eager to accept a dinner invitation.

A few minutes later Cassie strolled in. She sat between Celia and May and looked around cheerfully. "I'm sorry Michael couldn't be here tonight," she told them. "He had a meeting at the bank that he couldn't cancel. This is nice," she commented, noting the antagonistic faces around her. She winked at Celia. "We haven't had a nice family dinner in ages. Thanks for inviting us, May."

May beamed at her and patted her hand. "It's my pleasure, Cassie. Now tell me. When were you planning on providing me with some more nieces and nephews?"

Cassie's smile tightened. "Not today, that's for sure." She turned to Celia and hugged her. "I hear you've been busy," she said in her ear. "Tom came over this afternoon before I left and told me about your heroic actions over the past few days. I'm glad Alex is safely behind bars."

May's eyes met Celia's over the top of Cassie's head. "Yes, it was quite the experience," Celia said, her gaze not wavering from May's. "You never know what kind of person you'll meet on a blind date."

"But I thought Alex wasn't a blind date."

"He wasn't. But he very well could have been."

May nodded her head and looked away. That's it for the blind dates, Celia thought in satisfaction. I'll never have to go on another one again. She thought about Tom and smiled. For more reasons than one.

Dinner was a strange affair. Claudia and Henry largely ignored the rest of them, and Cassie and Celia watched the two of them argue through every course that came out of the kitchen. When the servers placed their desserts in front of them Claudia finally deigned to speak of something other than Ashley and their ruined finances.

"I hear that reporter from the Tribune is looking for a girlfriend," she said suddenly.

Celia's fork froze halfway to her mouth. Since when did Claudia read the newspaper?

"What reporter is that, Claudia?" Cassie asked innocently, her attention fixed on her plate.

"The cute one. You know, the one that writes about the girl that dumped him seven years ago. What was his name? Tom something."

"I think you mean Thomas Elliot." Cassie still didn't look up, but Celia could see a slight smile on her face.

'Yeah, that's it. What I wouldn't give for a man like him to look my way." Claudia's voice was dreamy.

"You said the same thing about Alex Stanfield, and look where that got you. And you never paid him any attention when we were dating back in high school." The words were out of Celia's mouth before she knew it, and she watched Claudia closely.

Claudia just waved her hand dismissively. "I should have known better. Alex was too good to be true. This Elliot fellow, now. He's the real deal." She paused and stared at her sister. "Wait a minute. Did you say you dated this guy?"

Celia picked up her glass and drank before answering. "Yeah, we dated for two years. He was at the house all the time. Don't you remember him?"

Comprehension finally dawned on Claudia's face. "No way," she said. "He's changed a lot over the years. Well, it's no wonder you're not together. He's way too cute for you."

"Oh, really?" Cassie's innocent expression had disappeared. She laid her fork carefully across her plate and leaned back in her chair. "I suppose that was why May convinced her not to marry him when he asked."

Celia risked a glance at her aunt. May sat, stunned and unmoving, next to Cassie. Cassie smile broadly.

"What do you think, May? Is someone like Tom Elliot, columnist for a respected newspaper, the real deal, like Claudia says? What would you think if he wanted to date one of us?"

Celia gazed at her little sister, not knowing whether to be impressed or horrified. Or both. What was she doing?

May turned her head and looked at Celia. "Why, I suppose . . . I mean, I don't really . . . "

"What was that, May? I couldn't really hear."

Her cheeks flushed, May's gaze dropped to Cassie. "I knew Tom once, a long, long time ago," she said quietly. "I didn't take the time then to get to know him as well as I should, and I came to the wrong conclusion. Now, after recent events, I would have to admit that my initial assessment of him was incorrect."

When she looked up again, her eyes were old and full of regret. "If he is as devoted as his columns say he is, I would think that any niece of mine would be very lucky to have him for a husband."

After they'd said their goodbyes later that evening Celia and Cassie stood in the driveway and looked at each other. Then Cassie started to laugh. "I don't think you'll need to worry about May trying to convince you that Tom's after your money again," she said, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand. "The fact that you don't have any money aside, I think she feels guilty enough about the whole Alex thing to let you marry anyone you please."

Celia stared at her sister in awe. "I can't believe you went after her like that," she said. "What possessed you to push the point? It's not like she knows Tom and I are seeing each other again." She clapped a hand over her mouth when she realized what she'd just admitted.

Cassie grinned knowingly. "So you're dating Tom now, huh? It took you long enough to admit it. When I saw him this afternoon he couldn't keep the stupid grin off his face. Did you kiss him last night?" she asked suddenly, watching Celia intently.

"What? No. We mostly argued."

Cassie raised her eyebrows and tapped her foot.

"I think he's scared to move too fast," Celia told her. "I mean, we have a lot of history behind us. It'll take a while to get past all that old stuff."

"But you wouldn't mind it if he tried, am I right?"

Celia wished she didn't blush so easily. "I plead the fifth."

Cassie laughed and patted her on the arm. "That's as good as admitting it. I give you until the end of the week before he plants one on you. Have fun at dinner tomorrow!" Still laughing, she got in her car and drove down the street.

***

Celia spent the next day daydreaming about Tom and wondering what he was going to do for dinner. On her way home from work her sister called.

"I thought I should tell you what to wear tonight," Cassie said without preamble. "I know it's been a while since you've been on a real date, and I thought you could use a little friendly advice."

"I went out with Alex," Celia protested, "and I hardly think you know more about dating than I do. You're married. You don't do dates anymore."

"I do too go on dates!" Cassie spluttered. "What do you think Michael and I do every weekend, sit on the couch and stare at the walls?"

"No, but it's different when you're married. You don't have to worry about scaring the other person away by what you say or what kind of clothes you put on."

Cassie snorted. "You've got a lot to learn. Now, before you jump into shorts and a t-shirt, I think you should get a little more dressed up. This is Tom, after all. He deserves at least as good as you gave Alex."

Celia swerved around a slow car in the fast lane. "What are you trying to say?" she asked distractedly. Did Cassie want her to kiss him?

"Wear the dress we got for that very first party at Tom's house. The black one. You look great in it."

Celia's eyebrows rose. "Isn't that a little formal for dinner at his apartment?"

"I know what he has planned, and he's pulled out all the stops," Cassie said smugly. "Just trust me on this one. Wear the black dress. And leave your hair down. He likes it that way."

By the time Celia had pulled in front of her building she had reluctantly agreed. "You better know what you're talking about," she warned. "If he shows up in jeans I might just march next door and kill you."

"I'm so scared." Cassie laughed. "I feel like we're back in elementary school again. Just put the dress on and have fun. I'm thinking of hosting a dinner party tomorrow, so you can come and tell me all about it. Don't worry; I'll invite Tom," she added.

"Fine," Celia sighed. It seemed like forever since she'd had a relaxing meal in her own home. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Once she was in her bedroom closet she looked at the dress appraisingly. It had been the first item of clothing that she'd let Cassie pick out for her. She smiled to herself as she put it on. It felt good to be dressing up for someone who cared what she looked like. Well, Alex had cared in his own twisted way, she supposed, but it was hardly the same thing.

She was brushing her hair when she heard Tom's voice downstairs. "Celia? Are you home?"

She glanced at the clock and groaned to herself. Trust Tom to arrive ten minutes early. "I'm upstairs," she called back. "Come on up; I'm almost ready."

"You know, you really shouldn't leave your front door unlocked like that," he told her as he climbed the stairs. "You never know who could come in and -- "She waited for him to continue, and when there was no sound she poked her head out of the bedroom.

Tom was standing in the middle of her library, looking around with a bemused expression. "You weren't kidding when you said you wanted to move into Locke's library," he said softly.

She stood there for a minute, framed in the doorway, and stared at him. For the first time that day she was glad she'd listened to Cassie's advice; Tom was dressed in a white shirt, open at the collar, and a navy jacket. His hair was a little mussed from the wind, and Celia couldn't believe she'd actually found Alex handsome. He's got nothing on Tom, she noted. I must have been blind. Or delusional. Or maybe a little of both.

Tom froze when he saw her gazing at him. Her hairbrush was still in her hand, and her feet were bare, but otherwise she was ready to leave. He stared back at her, a strange expression on his face. "You look amazing," he said finally, taking a hesitant step toward her. He reached out as if he wanted to touch her. Celia smiled at him; he was holding a red rose, which he seemed to have forgotten. She walked toward him and stopped when they were close enough for his outstretched hand to finger her hair.

"Is that for me?" she asked quietly.

Her voice seemed to snap Tom out of a dream, and he cleared his throat nervously. His eyes were worried when he spoke. "I'm afraid we have a change of plans," he said, looking away. "I was getting in my car to come here when Locke pulled up. He said he'd been driving all day; something about a girl and Ed Debevics, of all things. He asked me to go to the restaurant with him, and I didn't have the heart to say no. He doesn't know we were doing anything special," he added in a rush.

Celia grinned. She couldn't help herself. "I take it he wants to see Melissa."

Some of Tom's anxiety seemed to disappear when she smiled. "Who's Melissa? He's been strangely tight-lipped since he got back from his first trip here."

"Melissa is a girl he met when we went out to dinner," Celia told him. "They were quite taken with each other. I'm surprised it took him this long to come back; she's a student at the U of M," she explained.

Tom looked at her speculatively. "I'm surprised he's willing to date at all."

Celia laughed and followed him down the stairs. "I'll put that in a vase before we go," she said. "And at one point you seemed to find it very logical that Locke would be dating me."

Tom halted at the bottom of the stairs. Celia was still a few steps above him, and when he turned around they were eye-to-eye. "That was a stupid thing to think," he said seriously. "Especially when he knows how things were between us."

"I seem to remember him saying something very similar." Celia was having a hard time thinking straight. Maybe it's a good thing Locke's coming, she thought hazily. That way I'll have to concentrate on what I'm saying.

Smiling slightly, Tom reached out and touched her cheek. "I'm glad. I'd hate to have to fight my best friend."

The sound of a horn blaring outside made them both jump, and Tom let his hand drop to his side. "Melissa must be some girl," he commented as he strode into the kitchen and opened the cabinet above the refrigerator. "He's not usually this impatient."

Celia took the vase from him and filled it with water. "Cut him some slack," she scolded. "I'm betting he didn't tell her he was coming, and he's probably nervous. How did you know I keep the vases up there?"

He gave her a funny look. "Isn't that where you kept them in the old house? I thought you said you hadn't changed that much." Celia shook her head and laughed. "Let's get going." He held out his hand for her, and after only a slight hesitation she took it. His eyes crinkled with his sudden grin, and he pulled her behind him and out the door.

Locke took one look at them crossing the street hand in hand and jumped out of the car to hug them both. "It seems I was interrupting more than just a dinner between friends," he said, looking at Celia closely. "You look lovely tonight. I'm sorry; Tom told me you wouldn't mind the change in plans."

Celia glanced at Tom out of the corner of her eye. He was wearing a long-suffering expression. "If it's okay with him, it's okay with me," she said lightly. "He was the one doing all the cooking."

Locke started and clapped his friend on the back. "You cooked for her? Man, I am _so_ sorry. Let's go back to your place; I'll make myself scarce until tomorrow."

"Get in the back seat, Locke." Tom held the door for Celia, closing it carefully behind her.

Resting his head on the back of the front seat, Locke stared sorrowfully out of the front seat. "He really did say it was no big deal," he said. "I guess I was too excited to be here again that I didn't notice the flower and the jacket. Are you two official yet?"

Celia shrugged, then smiled at Tom when he got in the car. "Don't ask me," she told him. "I'm not sure of much these days."

Locke was quiet all the way into the city, whether from nerves or guilt, Celia didn't know. When they walked up to the restaurant she put her arm around his waist, Tom trailing behind them. "Are you scared?" she whispered.

Startled, he looked down at her. "Yes. I didn't bother to tell her I was coming. For all I know she doesn't even remember who I am."

She resisted the urge to laugh. "I thought you'd exchanged email addresses before you went back to Michigan. Haven't you talked to her at all since then?"

"Well, yeah, but – "

"I think you're making this a lot harder than it needs to be. Walk in there and tell her you're happy to see her. Then, if you want, Tom and I will conveniently fade into the background until you're ready to leave."

He smiled down at her. "You're a fine one to talk. Look how long it took you to admit that you were in love with my best friend. But you're right; this isn't rocket science here. Where would I be without you?"

"You'd be unchaperoned. Now go before you lose your nerve." She pushed him forward playfully and he stumbled a little as he walked slowly to the entrance.

She stood still and watched him go, feeling Tom come up behind her. He put his hands on her shoulders and gazed through the windows of the restaurant with her. "I'm sorry to drag you all the way out here," he said after a long pause. "I probably should have rescheduled for tomorrow, but . . . "

"Don't worry," she said, leaning back slightly. "I'm busy tomorrow, anyway."

His body tensed behind her. "Do you have any big plans?"

Celia tilted her head back to look at him. "I'm having dinner at Cassie's," she told him. "You're invited, too. Didn't she call to tell you about it?"

Tom blinked down at her for a second. "She might have. I didn't really have time to check my messages this afternoon."

"Don't tell me you had a cooking emergency."

A slightly guilty look on his face was the only answer she received. She laughed a little and shook her head. "I guess I should be grateful for Locke, then," she teased him. "I didn't really want to spend the night in the hospital having my stomach pumped."

"Very funny," he muttered.

Locke ran up to them, grinning. "I take it that it's safe for us to disappear," Celia said. "Text me when you're ready to go."

He bent down to kiss her on the cheek, laughing at Tom's scowl. "I owe you one," he told her. "Did you ever get the paint for your apartment? I can be over this weekend, paintbrush in hand."

"You're on. Now, go and enjoy yourself. We'll be fine."

They watched him go back inside, and after a second Tom looked around. "What do you want to do while we wait for him? I suppose we could just get another table, if you want." He didn't sound particularly enthusiastic.

Celia shrugged. "I'm not really that hungry," she confessed. "Besides dinner with Locke, I haven't been in this part of the city in years. Do you mind if we walk around for a while? I feel like I've been cooped up in a library or a car for way too long."

Without a word he took her hand again and they started walking. They went quite a ways without saying anything. Celia was content to let her mind wander, wondering idly what kind of emergency Tom had faced in his kitchen and what he'd done to repair it. She suspected a take-out menu had been involved somehow.

Tom was the first to break the silence. "I have a question for you," he said nonchalantly. "I've been thinking about Stanfield, and can't figure out how someone as intelligent as you could manage to get caught in something that serious."

Celia looked at him surreptitiously. He was studying the sidewalk in front of them. "I'll answer if you'll tell me how you got stuck with Lauren," she countered.

Tom sighed. "I guess that's only fair."

She smiled at his resigned manner. "I'm sure this sounds shallow, but I was initially drawn by Alex's charm," she confessed. "He seemed so nice, helping me with the tire that first time. Of course, you were the one that noticed I was bleeding, so I probably should have figured that he wasn't as good as he looked. Then, when I got back to Chicago, he was there to rescue me again and I agreed to go out with him to show my gratitude."

"What do you mean, he saved you again?" Tom's voice was sharp.

"I had another flat tire, this time on the freeway on my first day of work. I thought it was awfully coincidental that he came along just when I needed help, but I was in a hurry and worried that I'd get in trouble before I ever set foot in the library."

Tom snorted. "I take it that wasn't just a coincidence, then."

"No, he told me Saturday that he'd helped the tire along and then followed me. I think he has a flair for the impressive; if he'd wanted to ask me out it would have been a lot simpler to just call. I know he had my number. One thing led to another, and we went out a few more times. He kind of gave me the creeps after a while, though. He didn't ever do anything," she said hastily when Tom made an angry noise, "and by the time I realized what a slime he was I'd already agreed to go to the House of Blues with him."

"Let me guess. You figured it out when we were at Jaime's, didn't you?"

"That was when I started to," she admitted, "but I didn't put it all together until ten minutes before he showed up on my doorstep. You know the rest."

Tom ran his hand through his hair, making it stand up in little tufts. "You don't know what I was thinking that weekend," he said after a long pause. "I'd convinced myself that you were madly in love with him and that you never wanted to see me again. Then I read the article in the paper saying that he'd been arrested and I panicked." His grip around her hand tightened.

They walked like that for a few more blocks before Celia tugged on his hand. "Your turn," she reminded him. "What were you thinking, dating Lauren?"

"I wasn't dating Lauren." His response was automatic.

Celia pulled her hand out of his and placed it in her pocket. If he was going to be obtuse and refuse to be honest with her, he could walk by himself.

"I wasn't! At least, not at the end. I met her when I first moved in, before I knew your sister was my next-door neighbor, and it seemed like an innocent flirtation. Then I saw you hugging Michael and . . . "

"And what?"

Rubbing the back of his neck, Tom stared straight ahead. "And things got a little out of control. It was flattering, at least at first, that she wanted to be around me. Then later I went along with it to prove to myself that I'd moved on. It was stupid, I know. And part of me wanted to show you that other people found me marriageable."

Celia opened her mouth to tell him that she'd never doubted that, but closed it again. "Well, it worked," she said finally. "I was sure the two of you were engaged when Michael called. And your column didn't help matters any."

Tom snorted and nudged her with his shoulder. "Like anyone with a brain cell in their head could compare Lauren to Beatrice. Surely you knew I was writing about – "

Celia's phone buzzed, interrupting him. She pulled it out of her bag and read Locke's message. "I guess we can go back now," she told him, a little regretfully. "Locke says he's waiting in front of Ed's, and I have to be at work early tomorrow."

Tom pointed down the street. "We're right around the block from the restaurant," he said. "We've been circling it for the past hour. I didn't want to be too far away when it came time to go home."

"You're smarter than you look, Elliot." She grinned up at him and took her hand out of her pocket. Ignoring it, he placed his arm around her shoulders and started walking again.

"I'm glad someone thinks so."

They didn't say anything more until they saw Locke standing on the corner ahead of them. "I'm glad we talked," Tom said, slowing their pace. "I was pretty sure the evening would be ruined when Casanova over there showed up, but it could have been a lot worse. Thanks for being so understanding."

Celia turned to look up at him, and Tom let his hand slide down her shoulder until their hands were touching. He leaned close, and she gazed up at him, wondering if he was going to kiss her. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she felt his breath on her lips before he turned slightly and kissed her on the cheek. He was staring at her when she opened her eyes, and she reached out to smooth his hair down. Then she tugged him down the street to where Locke was waiting.

***

The next morning Celia woke up with her hand on the spot that Tom had kissed, and she spent the rest of the day thinking of ways to get him to kiss her properly. She didn't think he'd mind, but then again, she'd been wrong about him in the past. The long-banished memory of his kisses came flooding back into her mind. It would be one thing, she thought, if she hadn't already experienced them; then she wouldn't know what she was missing. Maybe she'd just have to corner him and plant one on him whether he liked it or not. The idea had some merit.

There was an unusual flurry of activity in the kitchen when she got to Cassie's later that afternoon. Hoping she didn't need her fire extinguisher, she looked inside and found Cassie and Rachel at the stove, inspecting something in a pot. When she came up behind them Cassie wound an arm around her waist and kept staring at the pot. It was filled with a thick milky substance that she couldn't identify.

"Do you think they're done?" Cassie asked anxiously, sticking a spoon inside and stirring cautiously. "I don't know how you can tell."

Rachel glanced at Celia and tilted her head. "Hey, stranger. I understand you've been busy."

Celia shrugged. "Yeah, I needed something to do and the girl detective business was flourishing. What are you two making?"

"Mashed potatoes."

Celia started to laugh. "Those are potatoes? How long have they been cooking? It looks like potato sludge."

Cassie glared at her. "I've been watching it for the past hour. I suppose you can do it better?"

Grabbing the pot from her sister, Celia poured the contents down the drain. "They're cooked when they're soft, not disintegrated. Didn't you test one with a fork?"

"Oh." Cassie's shoulders sagged. "The cookbook didn't say anything about that."

"Don't worry, I'll show you. Do you have any more potatoes?"

She and Rachel were laughing at Cassie's attempts to use a vegetable peeler when Celia glanced up. Tom was standing just outside the kitchen, watching the three of them. He grinned when Celia caught his eye and winked before disappearing.

An hour later Cassie proudly placed her masterpiece on the table with a flourish. Michael kissed her fondly and rubbed his hands together. "What's everyone waiting for?" he called down the hall. "Come on, don't be shy! Let's eat!"

"Did you make everything?" Celia whispered to Cassie as people started filing into the dining room.

"No, I was smart enough to stay away from the big stuff. Most of it came pre-cooked. Don't tell anyone, though. They all think I'm a whiz in the kitchen."

"Not everyone." Cassie shot her a withering look and went to sit next to her husband. There was quite a crowd, Celia noted: Michael and Cassie, Locke and Melissa, who had been invited at the last minute when Cassie had learned of Locke's visit, Rachel, and herself. She was just about to go looking for Tom when Locke pulled her aside.

"He had to take a call from his editor," he said softly. "He made me promise to save a seat for him next to you."

"What makes you think I was looking for Tom?"

Locke ruffled her hair. "The same reason he kept wandering to the kitchen for the past hour. You two are pitiful." He laughed at her expression and sat next to Melissa.

The meal was almost over when Tom finally appeared. He apologized to Cassie for being so late and then slid into the chair next to Celia with a sigh.

"Is everything okay?" she asked him, passing him what remained of their dinner.

"Not really." He didn't look at her. "My editor is giving me grief over my recent work. She says she's tired of reading about corrupt aldermen and city beautification plans."

Knowing the answer, Celia asked, "So what does she want you to do?"

His eyes slid to her and then away again. "She wants me to write from the heart again. When I told her I couldn't, she wasn't too pleased." He turned his attention to his food and started talking to Locke, leaving Celia to her own thoughts.

After everyone had finished, Rachel and Cassie took Melissa on a tour that, Celia suspected, would include an interrogation. She wasn't the only one that was protective of Locke. Michael wandered out to the balcony to take a call, and Tom disappeared into his own apartment, muttering something about having to rewrite a column.

"I guess we've been abandoned," Locke commented as the last person drifted out of the dining room. He looked at her speculatively. "Did you ever get a tour of Tom's apartment?"

Celia shook her head. "I've been in there a few times," she told him, "but didn't really bother to go very far. I figured it was the same as this one."

Locke stood up. "Oh, the floor plan's the same, but there are a few differences that I think you might enjoy." He pulled her to her feet and dragged her out into the hallway.

"Is this really necessary? I mean, you're leaving your girlfriend alone with my sister. Do you really think that's a good idea?"

Grinning, Locke opened the door to Tom's apartment. "Melissa can take care of herself. Don't worry about her."

He breezed through the front rooms, which she'd already seen, and turned down the hallway that Celia knew led to the bedrooms. "I'm not going down there," she said, trying to stop their progress. "I have no business in Tom's personal space."

Locke lifted his eyebrows in mock surprise. "You don't? Since when? No, I'm taking you to his music room," he explained. He stopped in front of what would have been the spare bedroom in Cassie's apartment and opened the door. "Take a look."

Celia walked into the room and caught her breath. The only thing in the room was a baby grand piano that gleamed faintly in the late afternoon light streaming through the windows. She didn't think of herself as a musician, but there was something about that piano . . . "I didn't know Tom had a piano," she said in a voice that didn't sound like her own.

"It's a fairly recent purchase. Play a little and tell me what you think."

Celia forced her feet carry her to the keyboard. She sat on the bench and struck a few chords, then looked closer at the keys. There, on middle C, almost too faint to see, was a letter written in a childish hand.

"This is my piano." She looked up at Locke, her eyes brimming with unnoticed tears. "I wrote that "C" the first time I had a lesson. My mom almost killed me. How did my piano get in Tom's spare room?"

Locke sat next to her and put his arm around her shoulders. "He bought it while he was holed up in the house on the island," he said. "He didn't want to admit it, but he needed a part of you with him, even if that part was just a piano."

"But how did he find it? The auction was a while ago, and -- "

Locke chuckled and pulled her head down onto his shoulder. "He made a few phone calls. He is a reporter, silly, and reporters have ways of extracting information that the rest of us mortals don't. He sent one of his buddies to pick it up for him and then had the piano delivered here."

The tears were coming faster now, no matter how hard Celia tried to keep them in. "I still can't believe he has my piano. I thought I'd never see it again."

"Yeah, well, he thought he'd never see you again, and here you are. Shouldn't that tell you something? He never fell out of love with you, Celia. No matter what he did, you were always in his mind. Can't you see that now?"

She tried to laugh, but it came out as a nasty-sounding hiccough. "That sounds like me, not Tom. All those blind dates I subjected myself to. I could have refused, you know, but I think part of me was trying to find someone else to replace him."

"Did it ever work?"

Celia sniffed. "Obviously not. It might have helped if May had found guys that were a little more likeable." She ran her hand over the keys, feeling their smoothness under her fingertips. "My mom would have liked Tom," she said quietly. "And she would have liked that he ended up with her piano. I wish I could tell her that it was here."

Locke smoothed her hair behind her ears and rested his cheek on top of her head. Finally overcome with memories and emotions that had been buried for too many years, Celia buried her face in his shoulder and cried until his shirt was soaked with her tears.

***

She left not long after that. Cassie took one look at her when she came to collect her things and followed her to the door. "What happened? Have you been crying?"

Celia tried to smile and rubbed her eyes. "I'm fine," she said, and hugged Cassie tightly. "I'll call you tomorrow. I just need to go home and think."

Cassie shot her a dubious look but let her go without any more questions.

That night Celia pulled out all the columns Tom had written about her. She read them several times, then sat back on the bed and thought, really thought, about what she wanted. She still loved Tom; she'd admitted that much to herself weeks before. And she was pretty sure he felt something for her, too. The piano's existence in his home proved that pretty effectively. But what, if anything, should she do about it? It wasn't like she could just walk up to him and say, "I love you. Let's try again." Could she? It went against her character to be so bold. Maybe it was time to change – at least a little.

When she got up the next morning she stumbled around the apartment. Her dreams had all featured Tom and a piano, and she was having a hard time getting him out of her head. She wasn't sure that she wanted to, for that matter.

She didn't have to be anywhere until mid-morning, so she puttered around for a few hours. When she left at ten, she stumbled over a newspaper on her doorstep, and she thought idly that someone must have given it to her by mistake. She threw it down the hall, hoping whoever it belonged to would find it. Another paper rested on her windshield, and she threw it on the front seat of her car. Was there some sort of distribution drive going on that she didn't know about?

There was a swarm of people outside the library when she got there, and she had to force her way through the crowd to get into the building. The girl at the circulation desk stared at her when she passed and held out a copy of the _Tribune_. She took it wordlessly, wondering if this was some sort of divine decree that she get a subscription.

People stuck their heads around corners as she walked past on her way to put away her lunch, and she patted her face, trying to figure out what they were staring at. Maybe she had a spot. Or a sudden, grotesque growth. Jen was waiting for her in the back room. She also held a copy of the paper.

"What are you doing here? Have you seen this?" she demanded, waving the paper in the air.

Celia looked at her in confusion. "I haven't read it, if that's what you're asking, but I have three copies. Someone's littering the city with them."

Jen sat her down at the table and opened the paper to page three. "I really think you need to read this before you do anything else this morning," she told her, and sat down to wait.

_Persuasion_

_by Thomas Elliot_

_As I sit here in my study I can hear snatches of conversation drifting across the hall from what I've fondly termed 'the piano room'. I named it that after I bought a beautiful old piano from an auction and put it in my spare room. Now, I don't play any musical instrument, but this one called to me, and I knew I had to own it._

_The reason, of course, is because it was hers. When we parted seven years ago I vowed to leave and never look back. I left, all right, but the funny thing about the heart is that once it's been touched by someone truly extraordinary it won't let you go about your business in peace. So here I sit with my ex's piano, wondering what her reaction was when she found it here._

_We have had a bit of a rocky reunion, her and me. We've had confusions and misunderstandings and wrong judgments (mostly on my part), but somehow I think we've finally overcome our past troubles. But just to be sure, I'd like to lay it all out for the entire city to see – and maybe then she'll believe that what I write is the truth, even though I may not have always behaved the way I should._

_When we broke off our engagement I accused you of letting your aunt persuade you that I wasn't good enough or rich enough or smart enough to make you happy. I've hated the word persuasion ever since then. Yet now I'm writing the single most important column of my life in an attempt to do just that – persuade my heart's desire, despite everything that's happened, that I am worthy of your trust. And your love._

_Celia, I love you. I always have. I spent the past seven years trying to get you out of my head and my heart, and all I managed to do was wedge you even tighter into my soul. I know I told you I wouldn't write any more columns about you, but when I'm standing in front of you the words just don't come like they did when I was eighteen and too young to know that I should keep my feelings hidden from those who would mock them. It is only in these daily columns that I can truly express myself to you, and even then I fear that sometimes you think I'm writing about someone else._

_Cecelia Anne Fuller, you are the girl that haunts my dreams. You are my Beatrice and my Hero rolled into one. I would do anything for you, if you'd let me._

_I know this is the coward's way to do this, but I desperately need to know if you can feel anything for me. I think I've seen glimmers of something akin to love over the past few days, but it is time to lay all doubts aside. You know how I feel. And you know what I want. I realize it's too soon to ask you again to be with me forever, but you know that is my final goal. All I ask of you now is that you tell me, once and for all, if you can accept me for who I am – flaws and chinks and scars and all._

_I will do everything in my power to make sure you read this column, and then I'll wait until noon in front of Buckingham Fountain. If you don't come, I'll know my answer._

_Please come._

Author's note: I would be terribly remiss if I didn't extend my sincere (and extremely grateful) thanks to Linnea. Her help with one of the scenes was much-needed, and I hope it flows better now after being rewritten. Linnea, you are the greatest beta that ever lived! (And I'm not just saying that, either.)

I hope you like this take on Wentworth's letter; please let me know! There's only one more chapter left, so I'd love to hear your thought and ideas about the story and anything else you have to say. Thanks so much for reading and commenting!


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

Celia stared at the newspaper, her mouth hanging open in shock. Had she just read what she thought she had?

Jen shook her shoulder. "Celia! Snap out of it! You only have a little over an hour to get there!"

Raising her head from Tom's column, Celia closed her mouth with an audible click and folded the paper. Then she stood up, carefully set her chair back in its place, and turned to where she kept her work supplies. Her mind was strangely blank.

"Celia!" Jen was right behind her, whacking the rolled-up paper on her back. "Wake up! What do you think you're doing?"

For some reason these words jolted Celia out of her trance. "I'm going to work," she snapped, shoving art supplies haphazardly into her bag. The top of the glue bottle popped off when she threw it, with way too much force, on top of the crayons and she scowled at Jen as she dumped the lot in the trash. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

"It looks like you're going to miss the opportunity of a lifetime." Jen was incredulous. "You've got to get going or you'll be late."

Ignoring her, Celia walked down the hall toward the children's section. "I told him specifically not to write about me in the paper," she said angrily, her feet going faster as she spoke. "He ignored me. And then he put a deadline on my response. What does he think I do all day, sit around and wait for him to request my presence?"

Jen had to run to catch up to her. "He just told you he loves you," she panted as they rounded the corner. "Doesn't that count for anything?"

Celia stopped so fast Jen plowed right into her back. "I'll go when I'm done with my story hour," she said, dropping her things on a table at one end of the room. "And not a second before. He'll just have to deal with it if I'm late." She glared at Jen, daring her friend to argue.

"But you _are_ going, right? To tell him you love him?"

"I'll go. But I might just hit him as hard as I can before I tell him where he can stuff his precious newspaper."

"Fine, fine. But if he's gone when you finally get there it'll be your own fault for being so stubborn." Jen threw her hands up in disgust before disappearing down the hall.

Thoughts and images swirled around Celia's head as she prepared for the children to come in, and her resolve faltered as she remembered the words of his column. _Celia, I love you. I always have. I spent the past seven years trying to get you out of my head and my heart, and all I managed to do was wedge you even tighter into my soul._ Half of her, the half that had been waiting to hear those words for a very long time, wanted to break down and cry at the happiness that was pounding through her veins. Unfortunately the other half wanted to strangle him for not saying it in person. And privately.

By eleven twenty the irritated half of her brain was winning the battle. Only a third of the mothers (and their children) had bothered to show up, and when she'd wondered out loud where the others were, the adults in the room all looked at her in disbelief. "We figured you'd be at Grant Park," one woman told her. "I only came because I needed to bring back a book."

Celia tried to stifle the urge to throw something. "Well, I have no business at Grant Park right now, and I have a job to perform. Shall we start another story?"

Murmurs buzzed around her, and another woman, holding two small children and trying to distract a third from climbing on a table, asked innocently, "But haven't you read the paper today?" Several newspapers, folded open to Tom's stupid column, were thrust into her lap and Celia groaned.

"I read it already, thanks."

"Then what are you doing here?" The chorus of voices was amazed.

Celia sat straighter in her chair and tried to look professional. "I have a job, and Mr. Elliot didn't bother to see if I was available this morning," she said shortly. "I'll go when we're finished here. Now, I think it's time to move on. Would everyone come up here and get a glue stick and some googly eyes?"

Even as their small charges ran to where Celia was sitting their mothers rose to their feet en masse and started calling names. "Sam! Aidan! Patrick! It's time to go!"

"No, it's not!" Celia cried in disbelief as mothers took their protesting children by the hand and started dragging them toward the front door. "We haven't finished yet!"

The young mother with three children under the age of three paused on her way out and patted Celia on the arm. "Honey, if that man loves you half as much as he says he does, you better get yourself to that fountain before he changes his mind." Then, spying her oldest attempting to climb into the drop box, she ran down the hall.

Celia stood there for a minute, trying to figure out what had just happened. She sighed and turned around to go back and clean up when she spied all the on-duty librarians standing in a group behind her, gazing at her smugly.

"We knew it was you," the circulation clerk whispered, folding her arms over her chest in a self-satisfied way. "We figured it all out on Monday."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Celia said shortly, and tried to move past them. The librarians didn't budge.

"That columnist went to a lot of trouble to find our story lady," the clerk, who was evidently the spokesperson, went on. "We talked amongst ourselves and put two and two together, and here we are. What are you doing here, anyway? You should be at Buckingham Fountain."

If one more person told her that she was going to scream. "I have a job!" she yelled.

The librarians gasped and covered their mouths. Jen came up to her and led her to the door. "I think we'd all feel a lot better if you'd stop yelling and go meet Mr. Elliot at the park," she said firmly. "I checked your schedule, and you don't have to be anywhere until two. Now just go. We'll pick up your mess," she added when Celia looked over her shoulder toward the children's section.

The next thing Celia knew she was standing in the hot sun outside the library.

Tom has a lot of explaining to do, she thought grimly as she stomped down the sidewalk toward Congress Parkway. Now he'd gotten her kicked out of the library by a mob of overly enthusiastic women, most of who seemed to be trailing after her. She'd have to steer them toward the non-fiction section later; it seemed they'd been spending too much time in romance. She stopped at the crosswalk and waited for the light to change. The streets seemed more crowded than usual, she noted. Was something happening downtown that she hadn't heard about?

By the time the 'walk' sign appeared there were twenty people at the corner with her, most of them women. Some were carrying copies of that morning's _Tribune_, and she started praying fervently that they weren't all heading for Buckingham Fountain but knew it wasn't any use. Tom had said he received hundreds of emails a week in response to his columns, but surely he'd been exaggerating. Hadn't he? She caught snatches of different conversations as they walked down Congress, words like "romantic" and "I heard she hasn't shown yet" winding their way to her ears. She groaned silently. What had Tom been _thinking_?

She held her foot over the curb, ready to walk around the steadily-growing crowd and head back to her car where she could hide in peace when a horn blared at her. She jumped back onto the sidewalk and opened her mouth to yell at the driver when the car screeched to a halt and Locke got out. He slammed the door behind him and, grabbing Celia's arm, steered her back onto the sidewalk and into the throng making its way down the street.

"Where have you been?" he asked, not letting her go. "I've been trying to call you for the past half hour."

Shooting him a withering look, Celia tried to pull her arm free. "I always turn my phone off when I'm in the middle of a story hour," she said pointedly. "Let go. I need to go back to the library."

"No, you don't," he told her. "Jen called me a few minutes ago and told me you had left the library under duress and were on your way to the fountain. She seemed to think you might need a little encouragement to make it all the way there, so I hopped in a cab and came to find you. Why do you look so angry?" he asked, taking a good look at her face and slowing his rapid footsteps. "You look like you want to kill someone."

"I do," she told him through gritted teeth. "I specifically told Tom not to write about me, and now he's got the greater part of the Chicago headed to see me profess my undying love and devotion to him. And if you don't let go of my arm I might hurt you after I finish him off."

Locke raised his eyebrows but he let her arm drop to her side. "That's better," she muttered, and let the crowd push her toward Columbus Drive. Locke fell into step next to her, his hands clasped behind his back.

"So what are you going to do once we get there?" he asked, looking up at the cloudless sky.

Celia's first response was that she was going to tell Tom never to talk to her again, but she knew that no matter how angry she was she couldn't go through with it. "Right now I want to break his nose," she said after a long pause.

"If it makes you feel any better, Tom's been waiting by that fountain since eight this morning. He was hoping you'd read his column a little earlier. When did you finally read it?" he asked curiously.

Glancing at her watch, Celia said, "About an hour ago."

"I told him he was taking a huge risk," Lock mused, shaking his head. "But he heard us talking last night and hit 'send' before thinking twice, and by the time you'd left and he'd realized what he'd done it was too late to change the column. So here he is, hoping like anything that you'll come and save his sorry skin. I don't think you could break his nose, even if you tried," he added critically, looking at Celia's hand. "I don't think you're strong enough. Or outraged enough."

"Oh, believe me, I'm furious enough to do some damage." Celia's pace quickened when she got angry, and by this time she was almost running. "I think I might enjoy seeing his blood."

"Celia!" A pair of arms was thrown enthusiastically around her neck, and Celia was suddenly surrounded by Cassie's perfume. "I can't believe I found you! Why didn't you take a cab? It's much faster, and you'd already be there by now."

Celia tried to breathe as Cassie grip tightened. "The library's only half a mile from Grant Park," she pointed out, gasping for air when Cassie finally let her go. "It's not like the park's on the other side of the city, you know."

"You're probably right. Hey, Locke. Are you here to see the fun, too?"

Locke looked at Celia briefly before turning his attention to Cassie. "Something like that. Hold on to her, will you? She has an annoying tendency to bolt."

Without skipping a step Cassie slid her arm through her sister's and kept talking. "You're not really going to wear that, are you?" she asked, looking over Celia's outfit. "I know it's one I picked out, but honestly. The man practically proposed to you, and you look like Marian from 'The Music Man.'"

Celia tried not to roll her eyes. "She was a librarian, Cassie. I work in a library. And if you didn't like these clothes, why did you pick them out?"

Cassie huffed. "Well, they're not bad for work, and I figured the only people who'd see you when you wore them would be a bunch of drooling kids, not the man you've been obsessing over for the past three months. Why couldn't you wear one of your dresses?"

Figuring that this comment didn't deserve a response, Celia fixed her eyes on her feet. Somehow they were slowing down, and when she looked back up to see what was causing the delay she stopped walking altogether and tried not to turn around and run for her life.

They'd reached the corner of Congress and Columbus, where Grant Park was located, and there were so many people milling around that police officers were in the middle of the street directing traffic. Celia spotted several news vans, and reporters were scattered throughout the park with cameras in their hands.

Without warning the urge to run disappeared, leaving only red-hot anger in its wake. Celia shook off Locke's and Cassie's hands and moved forward. "Thanks for getting me this far," she said without looking back at them, and, her hands balled into fists at her side, she darted away, glad that she was small enough to flit through crowds easier than her taller friends.

She kept going, pushing her way through people craning to see over the tops of their neighbors' heads, and nearly getting trampled when someone shouted, not far from where she stood, that the infamous Cecilia Fuller had finally been spotted. She froze and contemplated the need to change her name when she got done with Tom, but when the excited noises had died down once again she pressed forward, eager to get the whole mess over and done with.

She was almost to the fountain when the crowd started chanting. "_Ten, nine, eight . . ." _She'd lost her watch somewhere between the library and the fountain, but knew why they were counting. For a split second she considered being late on purpose, but then she looked up and saw mist floating lazily through the air. She was almost there, and as furious as she was feeling, it would be stupid to get this far only to stand there and wait just to prove a point.

"_Three, two, one_." The crowd fell silent as no one appeared, and the hourly water show started in front of her. It was easier to make her way through the last few rows of people, and when she finally emerged from the throng she looked around. Tom was nowhere in sight. Of all the fountains in the city, she thought in irritation, Tom had to pick the biggest one. For all she knew he was all the way at the other end. It could take her hours to get through all the people to find him, and when she did . . .

Then she saw Tom walk around the corner. He stood at the edge of the fountain, his hands in his pockets as he gazed into the upturned faces around him.

It was that sight of Tom, looking so ridiculously hopeful and anguished at the same time, that narrowed her eyes and moved one foot in front of the other. She watched him take a deep breath and turn away from her, and when he did she ran up behind him and jabbed him on the back as hard as she could.

He barely had time to blink at her before her hand connected with his face, and his head jerked back from the force she'd put into her slap. "What the – "

She had her hand pulled back to slap him again in the off-chance that he hadn't gotten it the first time around, but he reached out and grabbed her wrist before she could hit him again. She stood there, breathing heavily, her eyes flashing at him. In all her years of dealing with her father and her sister and all the stupid, hurtful things they'd done to her, she'd never felt this much anger toward a single person in her life.

The crowd was eerily silent as Tom grabbed her other hand, she assumed to keep the untouched side of his face safe, and stared at her. "I take it you read my column," he said finally, his voice pitched low enough that she had to lean toward him to hear his words over the sound of the water shooting into the air behind them.

"I can't believe you didn't have the guts to do this in private," she spat. "You promised you wouldn't write about me in the paper again."

A guilty expression crossed Tom's face but he didn't look away from her. "I did," he said. "I can't tell you how sorry I am that I broke that promise. But I'd sat down to rewrite the column, and then I heard you talking to Locke across the hall and the words just poured out. I meant everything I wrote, if that helps any."

"Right now, nothing you say is going to make a difference." Still glaring at him she pulled her wrists free and took a step back. "Don't worry; I'm not going to hit you again."

Tom rubbed his reddening cheek and closed the distance she'd placed between them. His eyes were desperate. "In my column I asked you to come if you felt anything for me," he said hesitantly. "Can I assume, from your actions just now, that it's hopeless?"

Celia crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. "That depends," she said. "Can you repeat the words that you wrote to my face, or can we only communicate via the newspaper? Because if that's the case then I think – "

Before she could get any more words out Tom placed his hands on either side of her face and said in a voice loud enough to be heard over the pounding of the fountain, "Celia, I love you. I've loved you since I first laid eyes on you, even before you knew I existed. I can't live without you. Can you feel even a little for me in return?"

Still glaring, she gazed up at him. She wasn't quite finished yet. "Maybe. If you promise, and I mean promise, never to write about me again."

Tom swallowed hard and opened his mouth to respond. Then he closed it, cleared his throat, and tried again. "I swear on all I hold dear that I will never even think about you while writing another column. Or anything else."

Grudgingly satisfied, she stopped glaring, but her hands remained on her hips. "Please, Celia," Tom begged. "Tell me you didn't come all this way to tell me not to write about you in the paper anymore."

"Of course not, you idiot," she said, the fire returning to her eyes. "I came to tell you that I love you."

The words were barely out of her mouth before his lips were on hers in the sweetest kiss they'd ever shared. Celia's brain went off line, and when it did her anger finally dissipated. The only thing she was aware of was Tom's arms wrapped tightly around her and the feel of his lips as he breathed into her mouth, "I love you, too." Only the sound of the crowd cheering and clapping their approval finally brought them to their senses, and Tom pulled back far enough to whisper, "Never leave me again. Please. I don't know if I could stand it a second time."

"I promise," she breathed before she brought his face back down to hers, sealing her words with a kiss so fervent they were both gasping when they broke apart and turned, with slightly stunned faces, toward the crowd that was surging toward them.

***

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Somehow they managed to escape from the park, hopping into the first cab they saw and going back to the library. Tom refused to let go of her, even going so far as to pull her onto his lap in the taxi, his face buried in her hair. She laughed when he followed her inside and down the hall to the back room where she'd left her lunch.

"I'm not letting you out of my sight," was all he would say. "I've been waiting for this day for seven years, and I'm not giving up a second of it."

She smiled at him and touched his face before pushing the door open. When they walked in ten pairs of eyes looked at them expectantly. "We've been waiting for you," someone called from the back. "We saw the whole thing on the twelve o'clock news."

Celia could feel herself grin foolishly at them, and Tom wound his arms around her waist from behind. "Come on, Celia, kiss him!" the circulation clerk shouted.

"Yeah, Celia, kiss him," Tom murmured in her ear before he turned her around in his grasp. Blushing furiously she stood on her tiptoes and met him halfway. She tried to pull back after a second or two but, having none of that, he pulled her even tighter to him and refused to let go. Celia heard several wolf whistles behind her, but for once she didn't care. When she finally broke away, laughing and gasping for breath, he had a very self-satisfied grin on his face that faltered when he caught her thoughtful look.

"What is it?" he asked anxiously. "Please don't tell you were wondering how long that was going to last."

She laughed and buried her face in his chest. "Of course not, silly. I was wondering how I could get out of my two o'clock session without getting in trouble."

They heard someone clear their throat, and when Celia looked up she saw Sarah standing behind Tom. "I just had the strangest phone call from the Jefferson Park branch. They told me that after seeing the news this afternoon, all the parents for your afternoon session called to cancel." She paused and smiled. "Evidently all the mothers said to tell you they hope you have an enjoyable weekend, and they'll see you next Friday."

Before she could say a word Sarah held the door open and Tom pulled her out and down the hall. They were laughing when they reached her car. "What should we do now?" she asked, not really caring.

"Besides get out of here, you mean? Drive me to the park again so I can get my car, and I'll follow you to your apartment. I have a feeling if we stick around here much longer we'll have another audience, and I really don't feel like sharing you today."

Ten minutes later she was speeding down the freeway, her window open and Tom following a safe distance behind her. When she stopped in front of her building she got out and waited for him to pull something out of his trunk.

"I see your driving habits haven't changed any," he said blandly. "Do you have any idea how fast you were going?"

Celia tried to remember and then shrugged. "No clue," she told him cheerfully. "Why? Was I going too fast for you?"

He just mumbled something about getting killed before they'd had two full hours together and followed her into the building. She got the mail and rifled through it after opening her front door.

"What's this?" she wondered aloud when she saw a large, cream colored envelope at the bottom of the pile. "It looks like an announcement of some sort." Tom set his backpack on the floor next to the door and rested his chin on her head, watching as she slit it open with her key.

She started laughing when she read the first words on the thick paper inside. "Lauren's inviting me to her wedding in two weeks," she said, noting the date and doing some quick math in her head. "They've known each other for, how long now? A month or so? That was awfully fast."

Tom didn't say anything for a moment, studying the invitation in her hands. "I guess when you know you want to spend the rest of your life with someone there's no need to wait," he said finally. Then he took the paper from her and tossed it, along with both their cell phones, onto the sofa. "Come on," he ordered. "Outside. It's too nice a day to be indoors, and if we don't disappear now your sister might come and try to take you shopping. Today you're mine."

He strode around her building and headed purposefully toward the park. "I think we should have a picnic," he declared, not stopping until they'd reached a tree at the far end of the pond. "We're going to lay here and just _be_ all afternoon." Reaching inside his bag, he pulled out a blanket and spread it out. Then he pushed her down and sat next to her. She leaned against him and sighed happily.

"This is what I wanted to do the last time we had a picnic," she confessed, closing her eyes dreamily. "But I didn't know what you'd do if I tried anything."

"Really?" His hold around her tightened, and he pulled her closer. "I wanted to ditch Cassie and Michael and take you on a long walk around the pond. My plan was to tell you I still loved you, but I lost my nerve after your sister started that horrible conversation about Stanfield."

Celia groaned. "Please don't ever say his name again," she said. "I still can't believe I ever agreed to go out with him."

"Don't worry," Tom said distastefully. "You won't hear it from me." They sat there for a long time, not saying anything and watching the people come and go in front of them. After a while Celia roused herself to sit up and look at him.

"How did you ever get to own my mother's piano?" she asked. She had thought about that since she'd left Cassie's the night before, and now that the excitement of the morning was over the thought came flooding back. "I mean, you didn't even know we were having an auction. You couldn't have purchased it then."

Tom laid his head in her lap and gazed up at her. "I heard you talking to Locke one day in his library," he said languidly. "I remember that piano very well, you know, and when I heard that you'd had to sell it I knew I needed to find it. Maybe I wanted to atone for my actions with Lauren; I don't know. Or maybe I wanted to save something that I knew meant a lot to you."

To her horror Celia could feel her eyes filling with tears. What was it about Tom that made her cry? she thought fiercely. She'd gone years without tearing up, and Tom Elliot reappears and the dams come flooding down. "I'm glad you found it," she said unsteadily, hoping he hadn't noticed anything. "My mother would have been very pleased."

He reached up and brushed away a tear with his finger. "It's yours, you know. If I could figure out a way to get it up those stairs of yours I'd move it in tomorrow."

Laughing shakily, she rubbed her face on her sleeve and then ran her fingers through his unruly hair. He must have been running his hands through it all morning to make it look so wild. "I like it where it is," she said. "Now I don't need an excuse to come to your apartment."

"Like you've ever needed a reason. Someday it – " He stopped talking and looked up into the leaves of the tree. "Whatever my reason for searching it out, after you'd gone back to Chicago I was left in that big, empty house with your scent following me everywhere, and I couldn't get that piano out of my head. I made a few calls and found the family that had purchased it. One thing led to another, and it was mine by the time I came back here."

She looked at him skeptically. "Surely they didn't just hand it over to you."

Tom shifted uncomfortably and sat up to pull a bag out of his backpack. "It was a little tricky," he admitted, his head averted, "but they eventually came around."

Her eyes round, Celia placed her hand on his to still his movements. "You didn't bribe them, did you?"

Again, Tom eyes slid away. "I had to have that piano," he told her in a voice that said, quite plainly, that this was the last she was going to hear on the subject. "Bribery is such a nasty word. I traded something they wanted for something they already had. And I'd do it again if I thought it'd make you happy. Would you like ham or turkey? I brought both."

Knowing it was futile to press him, Celia raised her eyebrows and watched him pull lunch out of his backpack. "When did you put that together?"

"This morning, before I dropped all those papers at your apartment." He said this matter-of-factly, like he'd known all along they'd end up at that particular spot that afternoon.

"You were awfully presumptuous, weren't you?" she asked him a little too severely. "I might not have even come today, and then were would you be?"

Tom dropped the water bottles he was holding and stared at her. "I didn't explain myself very well. I was hoping you'd come, not knowing. I know I left a lot of room for disaster," he went on ruefully when she didn't respond. "I spent the whole night and most of this morning praying that you'd read my column and that you'd get to the fountain."

"I almost didn't," she pointed out. "You have no idea how angry I was when I read that."

Rubbing his cheek, Tom said, "Oh, I have a pretty good idea. You were right, you know," he told her. "I did promise not to write about you again, and I reneged on that promise. I can safely tell you now that it'll never happen again. You made me swear it in front of thousands of people."

"And I imagine your editor was there, too."

Tom shrugged. "I don't know. I didn't bother to look for her. If it makes you feel any better, you can write about me any time you like."

Celia laughed in spite of herself. "And who would I get to read that?" she asked, grabbing the water from him. "A bunch of two-year-olds?"

"You never know," he said seriously. "You never know."

They remained outside until the streetlights flickered on and it was hard to see the way back to her apartment. Then they stumbled, hand in hand, over the grass and to her front door. Tom hesitated in the doorway when she walked into the sitting room, and she laughed and tugged him in behind her. "You weren't thinking about leaving so soon, were you?" she teased, walking into her miniscule kitchen to wash her hands.

Tom stood behind her and held her hands under the stream of water. "Well, I have been here a long time. I didn't want to assume anything."

Celia tilted her head back and kissed his chin. "You're welcome to stay until bedtime," she said firmly. "Any day you want. Didn't I tell you that I loved you? That means you can stick around until you get tired of my presence."

At this statement, Tom lifted her chin and kissed her so hard that she almost forgot who she was. His eyes were dark and intense when he pulled away. "I don't think I'll ever get tired of hearing you say that," he said in a hoarse voice. "So repeat it as often as you like."

They spent the remainder of the evening curled up on the couch in her library, eating spaghetti and watching old movies that always ended happily. When he finally opened the front door to leave, he gripped her hand so tightly that she began to lose feeling in her fingers. "I'm afraid that if I go to sleep tonight I'll wake up only to realize that this has been only a dream," he said, panic starting to edge into his voice. "I don't think I could handle that."

"Locke promised to come over this weekend and help me paint down here," she told him. "Why don't you come over tomorrow when he does? He saw the whole thing this morning, so he can verify that it really happened."

"Paint? Why do you need to paint in here?" Tom stared at the walls blankly. "They look fine to me."

Celia just shook her head. Maybe he needed to get his eyes checked. Or perhaps he was color blind. "It needs to be painted," she told him. "Now kiss me and go home. You look like you could use a good night's sleep."

One kiss turned into two, which turned into several more, and Tom finally backed out the door with a promise to call her when he woke up the next morning. "Not too early," she warned as he slowly made his way out of the building. "I need my beauty rest, you know."

He paused with his hand on the doorknob, as though he was about to say something, but he just muttered to himself and walked out, looking over his shoulder as he went. She wandered up the stairs to her bedroom and lay awake for some time, thinking of water shows and picnics under the stars.

***

Tom, Locke, and Melissa were on her doorstep at eight the next morning, and Celia was still rubbing the sleep from her eyes when she let them in. "I thought you were going to call first," she yawned before leaning into Tom's arms.

He laughed quietly in her ear as the others went up the stairs. "I left my phone here," he explained. "And I wanted to see you again. You don't mind, do you?"

She smiled at him sleepily. "Of course not. Are you convinced this wasn't all a dream, or do you need more proof?"

"I need just one thing." When she looked at him questioningly, he asked, "Tell me again? Please?"

Bringing his head close enough for her blurry eyes to see clearly, she rose on her toes and said, just before their lips touched, "I love you, Thomas Elliot."

There was no more talking until Locke yelled from upstairs, "Come on, you two lovebirds. Time's a wastin'!"

"I told you I'd never get tired of hearing that," Tom murmured as they climbed the stairs. Celia hugged Locke and disappeared into her bedroom to get dressed, and when she came back out they had the furniture covered with drop cloths and the paint cans ready to open. They even had the baseboards and trim taped off.

"You guys are fast!" she said in surprise, looking around her. "It shouldn't take too long with all your help; thanks for coming, Melissa." She looked at the other girl and they smiled at each other. Somehow Celia suspected that Melissa would be good for Locke, and she hoped he'd allow himself to see that.

Before she knew it all the downstairs walls had been transformed from their previous nastiness to a much lighter shade of green. It brightened things considerably and made the entire downstairs look much bigger than it had before. I still can't fit more than two people at a time comfortably in the kitchen, Celia thought while rinsing out the rollers, but at least I won't get claustrophobic while eating my cereal every morning. She placed them on the counter to air dry and made her way upstairs to where Locke was sitting on the couch.

"Where is everyone?" she asked.

"Tom's in your shower; he brought his own razor," Locke told her, laughing at her surprised expression, "and Melissa's outside calling her roommate. We take off for Michigan tomorrow, and she wants to be sure everything's ready."

"I'm glad you'll be following her," she told him, sinking down on the couch beside him. "She seems like a wonderful person."

"She is." Locke had a faraway look in his eye, but it disappeared when he turned his attention back to her. "Before I leave, I wanted to ask you something."

Celia brought her feet up onto the couch and rested her chin on her knees. "Shoot."

"When Tom asks you to marry him again, what are you going to say?"

Celia blinked at him for a minute. He certainly knew how to get straight to the heart of a matter. "If he asked me right now, I'd tell him it was too soon."

"And if he popped the question later on, like in a month?"

Looking at him oddly, Celia shrugged. "I don't know. But I can tell you this: when I say I'll marry him, then I will. After seven years of regret, no one can change my mind."

Satisfied, Locke leaned over and hugged her tightly. "I'll miss you, Celia Fuller. I won't have an excuse for my random visits anymore."

"Sure you do," Celia protested. "You know I'd love to see you anytime."

He sighed and ruffled her hair. "I know that, but you have Tom now. Doesn't she, Tom?"

Celia turned her head and watched as Tom made his way over to sit next to her on the couch. He pulled her onto his lap and propped his head on her shoulder. "You better believe it. Should we take them to Jaimes' for lunch as a send-off before they leave us for greener pastures?"

She laughed and leaned her cheek against his. "I'll need to shower first."

"You look fine," Tom said. "You always do."

Locke clicked his tongue. "Man, she's got green paint in her hair and all down her arms. Let the woman get cleaned up. She won't wash down the drain. Besides, I want to talk to you, anyway." Celia shot him a look when she got to her feet, but Locke just smiled at her innocently and put his legs on her coffee table. "Don't worry about us, Celia. We'll keep ourselves entertained."

"Behave yourselves," she warned, looking pointedly at Locke before she left the room.

When she came out of the bedroom half an hour later, her hair still slightly damp, Tom was standing in the library alone, looking absently at her books. He had a strange expression on his face, like he'd just learned something but didn't know what to do with the knowledge he'd gained.

"Is everything all right?" she asked, walking over to him and placing her hand in his.

He shook his head as if to clear it and grinned at her. "Of course," he said. "I told Locke we'd meet them at the restaurant. He said they were such expert painters that they didn't need to get cleaned up." He lifted one shoulder. "Anyway, I was thinking I should drive," he continued, following her down the stairs. "I'm not sure my blood pressure can handle your breakneck speed."

"I'm a perfectly safe driver," she protested, scooping up her keys and dangling them in front of him. "And we'll get there much faster if I'm behind the wheel. You're slower than a sloth. Didn't anyone teach you what the pedal on the right is for?"

Wearing a slightly martyred expression, Tom allowed her to lead him to her car. "Okay, from now on we switch off. At the end of the month, if you can honestly tell me that my way isn't any better than yours, I'll stop griping about your speedometer's readings. Unless you're putting yourself in danger," he added hastily.

She just rolled her eyes and buckled herself in. "Come on, slow poke. It's time to go."

Tom only had to grip, white-knuckled, the door handle once, and Celia groaned when she saw that Jaime was waiting for them outside the restaurant. "Here we go," she muttered, looking apologetically at Tom. "I promise to translate anything he says."

He just leaned over and kissed her before his door was wrenched open by a very excited Jaime. "I saw you on television yesterday," he beamed. "I knew you two would see reason! Come in, come in! Lunch's on the house tonight!"

"What's with the English?" Celia asked curiously as Jaime led them to their table. Locke and Melissa were already there, laughing behind their menus at all the fuss.

"I don't need to talk about Tom behind his back any more," Jaime explained cheerfully. "He can know everything now."

Celia squeezed Tom's hand sympathetically and they endured a procession of Jaime's family, all congratulating them – on what, precisely, Celia didn't know. It wasn't like they were engaged or anything.

Locke watched the proceedings with a great deal of amusement. "You sly dog, you! Did you propose on the way here?" he asked, his question mirroring Celia's thoughts. "Because if you did and I'm the last to know I might be royally ticked off."

"No, no," Tom said hastily, glancing at Celia briefly before making a show of opening his menu. "Leave me alone. We've only been dating a few days."

Locke snorted and looked at Celia. "Speaking of marriage, I saw a wedding invitation in your kitchen. That wouldn't be Pinkie's, would it?"

"It is," she said absently, watching Jaime across the room. He was mouthing something at her that she couldn't decipher. "Are you coming back for it?"

When there was no immediate response Celia's eyes focused on the man across the table. "What?" she asked. He seemed very uncomfortable.

Tom laughed quietly next to her and leaned back in his chair, his arm thrown casually across her shoulders. "Locke may not receive an invitation," he said, laughing harder when Locke busied himself with the bowl of chips.

Melissa's eyes darted between Locke and Tom, obviously intrigued. "Who's Pinkie?" she asked, resting her head on her hand. "And why wouldn't she invite you to her wedding?"

"Yeah, Locke, why won't Pinkie invite you to her wedding?" Tom was laughing so hard by now that he had to hold on to Celia's chair to keep himself upright.

Clearing his throat, Locke glared at his friend. "Pinkie, or Lauren, as she's known in kinder circles, was after Tom here when I first met her. She was very persistent, and after she bonked her head on the side of my boat she seemed to think Tom would cater to her every whim."

"Which I didn't," Tom added. "Much to her chagrin."

"Tom disappeared for a few weeks," Locke continued as though he hadn't been interrupted, "and I tried to convince her that Tom was a useless case. She didn't care for that very much."

"Wait a minute," Celia said, leaning closer to the table. "What about Dr. Boyle? They can't have fallen in love – " Locke snorted – "in less than a week."

"Love is a relative term," Locke told her, glancing at Tom. "When I finally convinced her that Tom wasn't serious about her she tried to throw me out of the house."

"But it's your parent's house."

"That's what I told her. She was annoyed for a few hours, but everything looked better when Boyle came for his daily visit. She'd liked him well enough to encourage him from the beginning, and after Tom was no longer an option she latched herself onto her doctor. Let's just say that I'm glad Lauren probably won't be living in Mackinac City. I'm certainly not on her list of best friends, even though she's happily engaged."

Celia just shook her head. She was beginning to think that Locke had missed his calling in life. He would have been great at a dating service.

Locke turned to Melissa and proceeded to tell her about Lauren and the pink suitcases, and after a few minutes Tom tilted his head in her direction and asked, "Will you go with me?"

Celia's fork hovered in front of her open mouth. "Like I 'went with' Matt Larkin in the seventh grade?"

"I hope I have more grace than that," Tom said, running his hand across his face. "I was asking if you'd go to the wedding with me."

Laughing, Celia elbowed him in the side. "That would be fun. But I hope I'll see you before then; the wedding's two weeks away."

Tom kissed the top of her head and pulled her close. "You'll see so much of me over the next few weeks that you'll think I've moved in," he promised.

A minute later Jaime cleared away their plates and beamed at them again. When he left there was a note on the table in front of Celia. She opened it and laughed.

"What is it?" Tom asked, looking over her shoulder.

_Please consider Jaime's when you plan your wedding reception._

***

On the day of Lauren's wedding Celia found herself in Cassie's spare bedroom. "I still don't see why you're making all this fuss," she grumbled as Cassie wound her hair around the curling iron. "I'm not the one getting married."

"True," Cassie shrugged, "but I haven't seen you alone in a few weeks and thought this would be a good way to make you sit still long enough to talk to me without Tom hovering in the background."

Celia smiled at her sister in the mirror. She had seen a lot of Tom over the past two weeks, and she felt slightly guilty for ignoring the rest of her friends. "You know I still love you," she said fondly. "I've just been a little . . . preoccupied."

Cassie snorted and moved on to another section of Celia's head. "That's an understatement. Has there been a day when you haven't done something with your oh so very attentive boyfriend?"

Cringing, Celia reached down and fingered the watch Tom had purchased for her a few days before. He'd noticed it was missing, and when she told him she'd lost hers at Grant Park he'd appeared on her doorstep the next day with a replacement. "I like buying things for you, now that I'm allowed," was all the explanation she received.

"I hate that word," she said. "It sounds so high school."

"Well, he's not your fiancée or your husband, so what do you think he should be called?"

Celia thought for a minute, watching Cassie's reflection. "I don't know," she conceded finally. "Maybe 'significant other'?"

Cassie pulled a face. "That makes it sound like you've been living together for years, not dating for a few weeks. Try again."

A knock on the door stopped Celia from answering that maybe fiancée didn't sound as bad as it had only a few weeks ago, and Michael came in, looking frazzled. "Are you two almost ready?" he asked, checking his watch. "Tom's been here for fifteen minutes, and if we don't get going we'll be late."

"You wouldn't mind being late," Cassie said absently. "You're just afraid of what Lauren would do to you if you didn't' show up on time."

Michael gave her a pained look. "Come on, wife. Hurry up."

Cassie patted Celia's hair and stood back to admire her handiwork. "You look beautiful," she said, obviously pleased with herself.

"Beautiful doesn't do her justice." Tom stood in the doorway, a strange expression on his face. He cleared his throat and held out his hand wordlessly.

"It's been a long time since I've seen you in a suit," she said, looking him over and smiling. "You didn't fill it out nearly as well then." She stopped abruptly and blushed. Had she really just said that out loud?

"The same could be said for you," Tom whispered, his eyes dancing. He put his hand on her cheek and leaned in to kiss her.

"I now pronounce you man and wife!" Cassie crowed, her arm around Michael's neck. "If that dress were white we could have a double wedding."

Tom's lips smiled against hers. "Don't tempt me," he murmured. "Just say the word, Cel, and we can join Boyle and Lauren this afternoon."

Only a week ago Celia might have panicked at the suggestion, but now she wasn't so sure. The more time they spent together the harder it was to be apart, and if the purpose behind dating was to get to know someone they were already well beyond that.

Tom kissed her one more time before glancing over at Michael. "I thought we were going to be late," he said, watching Cassie fuss one last time over her husband's tie.

They slid into their seats fifteen minutes before the show started and Celia looked around her incredulously. Between the pink ribbons and pink flowers and pink dresses on the attendants milling around behind them, she felt like she'd fallen into a vat of Pepto-Bismol.

"I think I might be sick," Tom muttered next to her.

Celia smirked at him. "Just think, this might have been you. I wonder if Dr. Boyle is wearing a pink tux."

Tom shuddered and inched closer to her. "It was never going to be me," he told her as seriously as he could while surrounded by pink love. He looked at her appraisingly. "Please tell me you'll do things differently when you get married."

Celia tilted her head and gazed back at him. "Why do you want to know?" she asked, wondering if he had an ulterior motive.

Shrugging, he made a gagging noise and pretended to be sick. "Because if I'm privileged to be at your wedding I want to be sure I come prepared."

"Don't worry," she assured him. "I think I've just developed a decided aversion to pink in any form."

"That's too bad," he breathed, leaning toward her as the music started. "It looks lovely on you."

She tried to pay attention to what was happening in the church, but when Tom pulled out a small notepad and began to write she gave up. "What are you doing?" she hissed, looking pointedly at his pen and paper.

"Writing you a note," he whispered back. "Be quiet. It's rude to talk during a ceremony."

Glaring at him, she folded her arms over her chest and pretended that Lauren's wedding gown -- ruffled, beribboned, and adorned with pink accents -- was the most fascinating thing she'd ever seen. Although, if she was being perfectly honest with herself, the dress was a masterpiece of tulle and froth. She looked, Celia decided, like a white cupcake liberally decorated with pink sprinkles. She wondered idly how Lauren had stuffed it in her car. And how she was getting to the reception.

She pretended not to notice when Tom pushed his notepad at her a minute later, only relenting when he stuck his pen behind her ear.

_Since your wedding won't look like this, what will it look like?_

What was all this talk about weddings? A line from his column floated to the surface of her memory. _I realize it's too soon to ask you again to be with me forever, but you know that is my final goal._ If it wouldn't be so absurd to propose after dating a mere two weeks, she'd suspect him of plotting something. Celia glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He was staring straight ahead, a glazed look in his eye. _Smaller. Like you'd miss it if you blinked,_ she wrote.

Tom's eyebrows rose at that, and he glanced at her before he took his pen from her hand and started scratching across the paper. _So who'd you want there?_

Celia tapped the pen on her chin, considering. _Cassie and Michael, obviously. And Jen and Scott._ Tom read as she wrote, nodding. _Rachel, but not Lauren._ A sudden cough from Tom told her he'd either thought that was in bad taste, considering where they were, or he'd been disguising a laugh. _And Locke. Definitely Locke._

Tom took the notepad back from her. _What about the rest of your family?_

Celia shook her head. _No, but thanks for asking._

_Not even May?_

She had to think about that one. As much as she loved her aunt, she wouldn't miss her. _Nope._

Tom slipped the notebook inside his coat pocket, looking thoughtful. That expression stayed on his face through the rest of the ceremony and into the reception, only disappearing after he'd excused himself from their table to make a phone call. When he returned he was looking pleased with himself – and excited.

"What's going on?" Celia asked over the noise of the band.

Tom smiled at her innocently. "Nothing," he said, then pulled her to her feet and joined the other dancing couples.

***

Over the next two weeks Tom behaved very strangely. They saw each other every day but one, and when Celia questioned him as to his whereabouts he just tried to look natural and changed the subject. And one day, when she stopped by Cassie's and walked into the family room, Tom was sitting next to her sister, his head bent over a magazine that he promptly stuffed under the sofa cushion. He then refused to budge.

But Celia really started to wonder about his sanity when she found him at the library Friday afternoon. It wasn't the fact that he was there that surprised her -- he'd met her at work several times for lunch – it was that he was coming out of Sarah's office that really threw her.

When Tom spotted her he threw his hand up in greeting and turned to shake Sarah's hand. "I appreciate the help," he was saying as she walked near. "I'll let you know what happens."

"Oh, I daresay you won't have to," she replied before closing her door.

"What was that all about?" Celia asked, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

Tom grabbed it from her and placed his free arm around her waist. "I was thinking about writing a column on the growing illiteracy problem and the need for libraries in inner-city neighborhoods," he said vaguely. "What do you think?"

"So you're done with the mayor's beautification project?"

He shrugged. "For now. Hey, are you finished for the day? I was hoping I could take you back to my place for dinner."

Celia looked at him suspiciously. "Are you cooking?"

"Don't tell me you're still afraid of me in the kitchen," he said, following her to her car. "I haven't killed anyone yet, nor have I burnt down any buildings. It's perfectly safe."

She stared at him for a long moment. "You're up to something. I can tell. What is it? Should I be nervous?"

Tom scowled at her. "What makes you think that?" he asked, sounding wounded. "All I want is to make dinner for the woman I love. And if you're too tired to go home, you can crash in Cassie's spare bedroom. Does that sound so strange?"

Celia smiled involuntarily. She still got goosebumps whenever he said that. "I'm right behind you," she said, and got in the car. All the way there (and it took a while, as she hadn't convinced Tom that it wouldn't kill him to drive more than three miles over the speed limit) she considered Tom and his curious behavior. Could he be plotting some way to propose? He certainly had all the signs. He'd already hinted that he would. The question was, when?

When they got to his apartment Tom shooed her into Cassie's while he cooked, claiming that he'd burn something for sure if she was in the kitchen, hovering over his shoulder.

Cassie was waiting for her when she knocked next door. "What took you so long?" she demanded, walking down the hall to the spare bedroom. "I've been waiting all afternoon for you."

"How's school going?" Celia asked, ignoring Cassie's ramblings. College courses had started a few weeks before, and Cassie seemed to be in her element.

"Great! I think I've decided to major in fashion." Cassie beamed. "Doesn't that sound brilliant?"

Celia reached over and hugged her. "I think you'll be brilliant at it," she said sincerely. "You've always had a certain flair for it, and I can't imagine what you'll be like with some training behind you."

Cassie opened the bedroom closet and pulled out several items of clothing. "You know, I'll need practice," she said slyly, glancing at Celia for her reaction. "I know I promised not to buy you any more clothes, but this time it's for a good cause. Try some of these on for me. I want to make sure I still have your size down."

Sometimes there was no use arguing, so Celia merely sighed and did as she was told. After trying on the third outfit, the last a soft green dress that she swore was too tight, she'd had enough and told her sister to stop. "I think you know what you're doing," she said, laughing at the disappointed look on Cassie's face. "I still don't see why you can't use someone else as a guinea pig. Why don't you talk to Rachel? I'm sure she wouldn't mind getting new clothes."

"It's not the same thing," Cassie pouted. "Hold on – I think I hear the doorbell. It's probably Tom. Come on back when you're done with dinner!"

Celia didn't realize until she was in Tom's dining room that Cassie had effectively 'dressed' her for another date, and somehow knew that she might be staying the night. She stared at Tom, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. She wouldn't put it past Cassie to be in cahoots with Tom about a potential engagement.

"What?" he asked, pouring her a glass of water. "Don't you like parmesan chicken?"

"It smells delicious," she said, still looking at him strangely.

"Then what's the funny look for? Enjoy your dinner. After all, this is the first time I've ever cooked for a girl, and I want to know how I did."

After stuffing herself silly Celia had to concede that Tom was a very decent cook. "Why have I been doing all the kitchen work?" she grumbled good-naturedly.

He kissed her and led her outside to the balcony. "Because you look so delectable in an apron. Don't worry about the mess," he added when she looked back toward the table. "I'll clean up after you go to Cassie's."

Tom sat in a lounge chair and pulled her down next to him. "I might just go home," she yawned. "I had kind of a crazy day."

He cleared his throat and gazed up at the stars, his hand playing idly with her hair. "Actually, I have an ulterior motive," he said. "I have a surprise for you tomorrow, but you'll need to be up quite early. If you stay at Cassie's I won't have to drive all the way to your apartment to get you."

"A surprise? What are we doing?" she asked languidly. She loved it when people played with her hair, and Tom was very good at it.

"That's why it's a surprise, Celia. We need to be on the road no later than five, so set your alarm."

Celia groaned. She'd been hoping to sleep in this weekend. But the thought of going somewhere potentially romantic made her more excited than she was willing to admit – even to herself. "You have to promise not to be angry if I'm grumpy tomorrow," she warned. "I was planning on some beauty rest."

"I thought I told you before that you can't possibly get any more beautiful than you are right now," he murmured, kissing her forehead softly. "Have you recovered from Lauren's wedding yet?"

The abrupt switch in conversation made her sit up and stare at him. "What? Why, do I look like I want to strangle a cupcake?"

"No, no," he said, pulling her back down to sit in front of him. "You just seemed a little rattled, that's all. I didn't mean anything by it."

Celia wasn't so sure about that. When she was back in the spare room next door that night, she wondered idly about Tom and his surprise. Maybe they were going to attend a wedding the next day. She shrugged and hung her dress up in the closet that looked much emptier than it had several hours before when Cassie had made her try on all those clothes. Too tired to wonder about it, she fell into bed and was asleep before she could think any more.

***

When she answered Tom's knock the next morning he was holding a mug filled with hot chocolate. She took it gratefully and left a note for Cassie and Michael, thanking them for the use of their room. She shivered when they got in Tom's car. It was only September, but the air was cool this early in the morning.

"So where are we going?" she asked as he got on the freeway.

Tom turned up the heat before answering. "We're going to O'Hare," he said, turning his attention back to the road. There weren't too many cars out that early on a Saturday, but for some reason it took all his concentration to keep the car going in a straight line.

"O'Hare? Are we flying somewhere?"

Flashing a smile in her direction, Tom pulled the car into a spot in long-term parking. "We are."

"Wait a minute," she sputtered. "I'm not prepared to go anywhere overnight. I don't even have my toothbrush." Or a change of clothes, she added silently.

Tom just grinned at her. "Surely you didn't buy Cassie's story last night? I told her about my plan, and she offered to get your suitcase ready. You have nothing to worry about." He opened her door for her and grabbed two suitcases out of his trunk and headed, whistling, toward the airport. Celia stood next to the car for a second, suddenly wide awake. This is crazy, she thought, watching Tom. Heaven only knows what Cassie packed for me. I could be wearing tight dresses for the next few days.

She followed Tom slowly across the parking lot, her mind wandering. Could he be taking her somewhere to get engaged and then _married_? It seemed like he'd been talking about weddings for several weeks, although he'd never said anything about _them_ getting married.

Tom glanced over his shoulder and called, "Hurry up, slow poke, or we'll miss our flight!"

Celia had just decided that this would be the perfect way to marry Tom – to leave Chicago single and return married with no one the wiser – when they walked through the airport doors. She started to head for the ticket counter, but Tom shook his head. "I checked in online," he told her, laughing at her expression.

It wasn't until they were standing in the security line that he finally let her see her ticket. "Pellston, Michigan?" she asked, trying not to sound disappointed.

"I thought it would be fun to visit Locke for a few days," he said, watching her closely. "Why, were you hoping for somewhere else?"

"No, it'll be great to see him again." Celia didn't really know what she'd been expecting, but a return trip to Michigan wasn't one of them. "Are we going to his house on the island?"

"That's the plan," Tom told her.

She sat on the plane next to him and fell asleep almost as soon as they were in the air, Tom's arm around her. She woke up when he shook her gently. "Look out the window," he said softly.

The leaves were in their full glory this far north, and she caught her breath as the plane got closer and closer to the ground. "I've never been to Mackinac in the fall. It's beautiful."

He smiled faintly and put his hand in his pocket. It looked like he was checking to make sure he hadn't misplaced his car keys. Or a ring. "I hope you think so in a few hours," he muttered under his breath.

Celia opened her mouth to ask him what he'd meant by that, but he stood up before she could say anything. He kissed her when she got out of her seat and held her hand as they waited for their luggage at the plane's exit.

Locke had left his car parked for them in short-term parking, and Tom was quiet as they drove to the ferry. "Isn't Locke taking us across the lake?" Celia asked, watching the waves surge against the dock. "I thought we were here to visit him."

"Hm?" Tom had his hand in his pocket again. "Oh, Locke. We'll see him in a little while. He had things to do up at the house so I told him we'd meet him there."

"Okay," Celia said slowly. The closer he got to Mackinac Island the stranger he acted. She grinned at him and slipped her arm around his waist. "This is fun," she told him, hoping she wasn't reading more in his actions than was really there. "I'm glad we came."

Some of the nervousness left his eyes when she said that, and he bent down to kiss her, long and slow. "I'm glad you think so," he told her breathlessly when they parted. "I've been planning this trip for a while now."

"How long exactly are we staying?" she asked, finding a seat on the ferry and watching as his hand disappeared back into his pocket.

He shrugged. "As long as you want. I can work from up here, and I already talked to your boss. She said Friday was the last of most of your story sessions and the next ones weren't starting for another week or two, so if you wanted to take a little time off she wouldn't mind."

"So that's why you were talking to Sarah!" Celia exclaimed. "I thought you said something about a column on literacy."

"I might still do that," he said, pulling her closer to his side. "You never know. Maybe I'll write it next month."

Resting her head on his shoulder, Celia just laughed softly. "You went to a lot of trouble for me," she said fondly, looking up at him and touching his cheek. "Thank you. I don't know what I'd do without you."

He leaned his forehead against hers and exhaled. "Let's hope you never have to find out."

They wandered down Main Street hand in hand after making arrangements for their luggage to be sent to Casa Beryl, stopping in front of the used book store that Locke had taken her to.

"I saw you, you know," he said suddenly. "That day I took Lauren on that stupid carriage ride, I saw you and Locke go in here. I think I would have given anything to switch places with him at that moment."

Squeezing his hand, she started walking again. "I know," she sighed. "I felt the same way. Even though I love Locke, I wanted to spend the whole week with you."

He stared at her and opened his mouth as though he were going to ask her something. Then he closed it and walked purposefully toward Locke's house. "Let's go to the house for lunch," he said, his arm now firmly about her waist. "I don't know about you, but I'm starved."

But when they got to the house Tom didn't go up the steps that led to the front door. Instead, he headed toward the beach. "I thought you were hungry!" she said, laughing at his quickening pace. "The food's that way, Tom."

He stopped walking, allowing her to go ahead of him. "No, it's not," he whispered, his hands curled around her shoulders. "Look."

Someone had laid a blanket on the sand. There was a large picnic basket in the center, anchoring the blanket against the wind. "How did you do this?" she asked, stepping cautiously toward their lunch. "Did Locke – "

"Sh." Tom placed a finger against her lips. "I don't want to talk about anyone except for you and me this afternoon." He sat down and patted the space next to him. "Come on," he urged. "Your lunch is calling."

They were halfway through the contents of the picnic basket when Tom cleared his throat and glanced at her sidelong. "Have you forgiven me yet for writing that column?" he asked, flushing slightly.

"The column?" Celia placed a piece of cheese in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. "Yeah, I have. I still don't know why you couldn't just have said those things to my face, though."

Looking embarrassed, Tom gave her another bottle of juice. "Well, I was desperate. And I couldn't stomach facing another rejection."

"So you decided it'd be more fun to be rejected in front of thousands of people than alone in your living room."

Tom paused for a second before saying anything. "Well, if you put it that way, it does sound kind of stupid. But I got what I wanted in the end." He looked over at her, a look so intense she caught her breath.

"And what was that?"

He stood suddenly and brushed the crumbs from his pants. "Come with me for a minute," he said. "I want to show you something."

Laughing, she stuffed their discarded lunch in the basket, her eyes dancing when she saw his foot tapping the sand impatiently. "You don't want some poor unsuspecting bird to get a hold of this stuff," she admonished.

Muttering something that sounded like, "If a bird's stupid enough to eat my lunch it deserves a stomachache," he grabbed her hand and pulled her down the beach, scowling even more when she patted him sympathetically on the arm. When she kissed his chin, though, he grinned down at her.

"I'm a little nervous," he confessed. "I'm taking a bit of a risk here, you know."

Celia's eyebrows rose. "You are? What have you done now?"

He tucked her hand in his jacket pocket and smiled. "You'll see in a minute."

The rocks where Locke had unburdened his heart so many weeks ago were just ahead, and Tom helped her climb up. They stood at the water's edge for a long time, Tom's arms around her waist. She leaned her head against his chest and sighed in contentment.

"This is the place where I finally realized I was still in love with you." Tom's voice rumbled in her ear. "I saw what you did for Locke, and I knew I had to win you back somehow. It was torture that whole week, watching the two of you become close. I was so worried you were developing the kind of relationship that would lead to love, not friendship."

"But you knew it wouldn't," she reminded him gently. "I know Locke told you he considered me a little sister."

"He did." Tom sounded surprised. "And I can't tell you how glad I am. All those sleepless nights I spent in that house, wondering what was wrong with me. Why couldn't I just tell you how I felt and get on with things?"

Celia smiled to herself. It made her feel just a little bit better, knowing that Tom had shared her doubts. "The uncertainty almost killed me," she said. "Deep down I knew all those columns were about me, but part of my brain couldn't help but think that I was totally and completely misreading you. Until the last one, of course." She looked up at him and smiled into his eyes. He swallowed, hard, then took a step away from her.

"I think I'm ready to turn over a new leaf," he said, his voice sounding strange. "Starting right now." As though his legs could no longer hold his weight, he sank down onto his knees in front of her and pulled something out of the pocket his hand had been in all day. "I love you. You know I do. I can't go a day without hearing your voice or seeing your smile or knowing that you're happy. I want to be able to smell your perfume every second of every day, in my home, on my clothes, in my car, to know that I don't have to leave when it's bedtime . . . " He ran his hand through his hair, making it stand up in little tufts. "I don't know if it's too soon, but this is . . . "

He opened the box to reveal the single most perfect engagement ring Celia had ever seen. She could feel the tears streaming down her face but for once didn't care that she was crying because of Tom. "Are you asking me to marry you?" she asked.

"I'm asking you to consider the option, when you're ready." His voice was hoarse with emotion.

"And what if I'm ready now?"

He started and almost fell off the rock. When he'd righted himself he got to his feet and grasped her hands in his. "Then I have something to ask you. Will you marry me, Cecilia Fuller?"

Laughing through her tears, she nodded her head and threw her arms around his neck. "Of course I'll marry you," she cried, his shirt becoming damp under her cheek. "I love you. I never stopped loving you. I didn't really even try."

He kissed her then, letting all the past anxiety and worry and disappointment finally seep out of them and wash away in the lake beneath them. When he pulled away at last he slid the ring on her finger, his face jubilant.

"Let's go," he said exultantly. "We have a lot to do today."

Her face matching his, she laughed at his excitement. "What do you mean? We have months to plan a wedding. It doesn't all have to happen right now."

"You did just agree to marry me?" he asked, swinging her down off the rocks and twirling her around like a top.

"I did," she gasped. She couldn't stop laughing. She didn't know if she wanted to stop.

"Then we're doing it today. You said you wanted a small wedding, right?"

Celia squirmed out of his grasp and stared at him. "Are you suggesting we elope?"

He made a face. "I guess you could call it that," he said, "but that's not what we're really doing. Come on up to the house. You'll see what I mean."

They half ran across the beach, past their lunch spot that had been cleared away, and up to Locke's house. There seemed to be a lot of activity going on inside. As soon as they reached the front door it flew open to reveal not only Locke, but Cassie and Jen as well.

Locke took one look at Tom's face and stepped forward to thump him on the back wordlessly. Cassie and Jen, however, stared at Celia expectantly.

"Well?" they chorused, trying to see her left hand.

She pulled it from Tom's and they immediately surrounded her, hugging first Celia and then Tom. "Welcome to the family," Cassie said to Tom, her face alight with happiness. "I can't tell you how happy I am to say that."

Tom reclaimed his fiancée from Jen and pushed her inside. "Wait a minute," she protested. "What's going on?" It occurred to her that she'd been saying that an awful lot over the past few days. She wondered if it would ever sink in.

Tom pulled a piece of paper, much folded, from his pocket. "I happen to know that you wanted a small wedding," he said, smiling slightly at her look of surprise. "You told me exactly who you wanted to be there, in fact. Let me read this for you. _Cassie and Michael, obviously. And Jen and Scott._ _Rachel, but not Lauren._" Cassie snorted and tried to snatch the paper from Tom, but he held it above her head where she couldn't reach. "_And Locke. Definitely Locke. _You also said you didn't care if the rest of your family was here, so I didn't bother with them. I hope you don't mind."

Celia could only blink at him. "This is all awfully fast," she said faintly. "We don't even have a marriage license."

"Actually, we do. Michigan law states that only one of the people getting married needs to actually be present to get a license. Where did you think I was last week? I hopped on a plane and got one."

"Didn't they need my consent?" Celia asked, not recognizing the sound of her own voice.

"All I had to do was bring your birth certificate, which your sister got for me." Cassie smiled hugely and did a little curtsey. "So we're ready to go as soon as you are. Don't tell me you're getting cold feet." Tom's voice was teasing, but she could see a hint of panic in his eyes.

"Not this time," she assured him. "But I don't have a dress . . . " Her voice trailed off when she saw the smirk on Cassie's face. "Never mind," she sighed. "I didn't really want to shop for wedding dresses, anyway. All that fuss and bother over a bunch of tulle and lace."

"Tulle and lace?" Cassie planted her hands on her hips, obviously affronted. "Who do you think I am, Lauren's wedding planner? I'll have you know there's not an inch of tulle in your dress."

Tom was staring at her. "So you'll do it? You'll marry me today in Locke's back yard?"

She grinned at him, suddenly as excited as he was. "Only if we can do it in the library," she said, throwing her arms around his neck.

"I told you that was what she'd say." Locke smirked at Tom and embraced the two of them. "It's already set up in there. Now go get dressed!"

Cassie nearly pushed her up the stairs and into the bedroom she'd used before, all the while talking about how splendid it was to have another eloper in the family. "I don't think Henry will be nearly as heartbroken to miss my big day as he was for yours," Celia said wryly. She had a feeling Henry and Claudia wouldn't even register the fact that she was no longer single for quite some time.

"You're probably right, but you can't tell me you really care." Cassie's eyes twinkled mischievously. "Look where it got me – out of the house and independent. Of course, you're already doing that, but that's beside the point."

Jen closed the door behind them, and Rachel appeared from the bathroom to beam at Celia. "I'd hug you, but we've got things to do," she said, motioning for Celia to get into the shower. "Hurry up and get clean. Then the fun begins!"

As she stood under the water, Celia marveled at how fast things had changed for her. Six weeks ago she'd been playing girl detective and nabbing the thief who'd been pilfering the family fortune. A month ago and she was proclaiming her love in front of thousands of people downtown Chicago. And today she was getting married. It seemed so surreal, but yet she wouldn't change a thing.

The girls were already dressed when she emerged from the bathroom. "I hope you don't mind," Cassie said, towel drying her sister's hair. "Tom and I decided that you wouldn't really want a large wedding party, so I'm your matron of honor and Locke is best man."

"That's perfect. I wouldn't have done any differently."

With three people fixing her hair and doing her makeup, it took hardly any time before Cassie finally brought out her dress. "Most of the credit for this day goes to Tom, you know," she explained. "He helped me choose your dress, too. He seemed to have very decided opinions on how you should look today. You're lucky I agreed with him. Just step into it," she advised, "and then you can see yourself when you're all put together."

Jen zipped up the back and they led her to the mirror that Cassie had confiscated from another room. Celia gazed at her reflection, wonderingly if the girl looking back was really her. The dress was stunning in its elegance and simplicity, and she had to give Cassie (and Tom) credit – she couldn't have picked a better dress if she'd tried.

She stared at herself for a long time. The girl in the mirror looked like her; at least, she had the same face, but there was a marked difference. For the first time in seven years she looked happy. No, more than happy, she realized. She looked joyful. She spun around and embraced her sister and her best friends, careless of the wrinkles Cassie was squawking about. "I don't care about wrinkles," she said, her voice betraying her joy. "I'm getting married in a few minutes. Can you believe it?"

Throwing fashion caution to the wind, Cassie hugged her back. "Of course I can believe it," she told her sister, her eyes suspiciously bright. "I just got a text from Michael. Your groom is pacing the halls downstairs. Give us one minute before you come down." After one last embrace, the three women disappeared down the stairs.

When Celia emerged sixty seconds later, as instructed, the faint sounds of Debussy's "Clair de Lune" floated up the stairs. She had to blink a few times to clear her eyes, and when she looked down the staircase she saw Tom waiting for her at the bottom. He caught his breath and then smiled at her, holding out his hand like he had done the night before in Cassie's spare bedroom. When she reached the bottom stair she kissed him lightly on the cheek.

"You remembered my mother's song," she said, trying not to cry. "I can't believe you found a way for her to be here."

"Every girl needs her mother at her wedding," he said softly, wiping an errant tear from her cheek. "Besides, I'd like to think she would have approved of me."

"Oh, she would have." They walked down the hall hand in hand, and Celia gasped when they entered the library. The windows were thrown open, allowing the afternoon sunshine to stream in and showing off the views -- the lake on one side and the trees in their full autumn glory on the other. The sofas and chairs had been pushed back against the wall, and all the seats were occupied -- Cassie and Michael on the love seat, Jen and Scott on the sofa, Rachel in the stuffed armchair next to the window, and Locke at the piano, with a man Celia assumed was the minister standing beside him. Locke's eyes met hers as she entered, and he half smiled before turning back to the music in front of him.

The ceremony itself was a blur for Celia; all she was really aware of was Tom's hand in hers, his intense, unwavering gaze, and their friends around them. Somehow she managed to say the right words when necessary, and after what only seemed a few minutes the minister had pronounced them man and wife. Tom didn't wait for permission to kiss his bride, hugging her so tightly that between his embrace and his kiss she couldn't breathe. She laughed and squeezed him back, just as hard.

"I love you, Mrs. Elliot," he murmured in her ear before everyone else gathered around them to offer their congratulations. Tom didn't give up her hand even when Locke pretended to pry them apart with an imaginary crowbar, and finally the entire party converged in Locke's dining room, where dinner was ready. (Celia suspected Cassie had found a caterer, but she didn't ask.)

They laughed and chatted through several courses, and if anyone noticed when Tom and Celia sat quietly at their end of the table, smiling foolish smiles at each other, they had the tact not to say anything. Finally, though, Locke took pity on them and started shooing the rest of their guests from the house.

"I'll stop by in a few days," he told them as he got ready to leave. "I can't tell you how happy I am for you." A shadow crossed his face momentarily, and Celia knew he was thinking of his own lost love.

"Tell Melissa I said hello the next time you talk to her," she said gently, kissing him on the cheek. "And thank you. For everything."

His face clear again, Locke grinned at them one last time before walking jauntily down the stairs to the road. They stood there for a moment and watched his retreating figure, their arms around each other's waist.

"I still can't believe I'm married," Celia said after he'd disappeared from view and the stars were beginning to emerge. "I seems like it's all been a wonderful dream."

Tom's arm tightened around her, and he met her upturned lips with a kiss that hinted of magnificent things still to come. "Come with me, Mrs. Elliot," he whispered, picking her up and carrying her into the foyer. "We have our whole lives ahead of us. Let's not waste any more time on dreams."

He kicked the door shut behind him, and their laughter echoed through the empty house.

***

Three mornings later there was a knock at the door at an absurd hour, and when Tom opened it several minutes later with his hair standing up all over, the only thing there was a copy of the previous day's _Tribune_. It had sticky tabs marking two different pages, and Tom flipped open the first to see his and Celia's wedding picture on the front page of the society section. He smiled to himself and touched it lightly with his finger before turning to the other marked page. His eyes widened when he saw the space where his column usually sat. He sat down on the floor in front of the door to read, a grin spreading across his face as his eyes traveled down the page.

_The End_

_by Cecilia Elliot_

_After the entire city heard me yell at Tom for writing about me in the paper after asking him not to, I suppose I could be accused of gross hypocrisy. But before anyone gets out the tar and feathers, let me tell you what's happened over the past four months, and then, maybe, you'll understand why you find my name at the top of this page instead of my husband's._

_Tom and I broke up seven years ago, as he's told you, and to be quite honest I don't regret that decision. The past seven years have been tough for many reasons, and I found myself second guessing my decision, wondering if I'd done the right thing, but it was only after I left home and went away to college that I really understood why I had done it. They say college is a place of learning, and I did learn many useful things, but for me one of the most important lessons I gained was about my own self-worth._

_It was only after I moved out of my father's house and lived on my own that I started to develop a backbone. I'd like to think that some of the niceness factor that Tom accuses me of remains intact somewhere inside my stubborn soul, but I have my doubts. The fact that I slapped him hard enough to leave finger marks for writing that last, wonderful column says a great deal, and I'm not sure he's recovered from the shock. I hope he has._

_As I sit here and watch him sleep, his head almost covered by the pillows, I can't help but marvel at all that's happened since that fateful day in June when he first started writing for this paper. We were like a pair of frogs, jumping to conclusions whenever there was a loud noise. Only after we learned to finally trust ourselves enough to calm down and enjoy the ride were we able to see things a bit clearer._

_So here I am, writing Tom's column without his knowledge. Tom, you told me not too long ago that I could write about you any time I wanted, and when this opportunity presented itself it seemed like the perfect end to our not-so-private courtship that ended with a marriage just three days ago._

_They say that the words 'the end' signify that something is complete and unchanging. But this, the end of our public, one-sided romance, feels more like a beginning. A beginning where we can walk hand in hand along the beach toward the proverbial sunset, always changing and allowing life to mold us as it will._

_Just don't expect to read about it here._

The End

Author's Note: I can't believe it's finished. Linnea, without your help and encouragement and snarky comments this poor thing would have never left my computer. You are truly more wonderful than you know, and I thank my lucky stars that you answered my somewhat desperate call for help all those months ago. I don't know what I would have done without you!

At the risk of this sounding like a bad Academy award speech, I have to give kudos to James, too. I can't tell you how many times I yelled some stupid question about cell phones or cars or airports down the hall, most of which he knew the answer to. Or at least pretended to know.

Now that it's all said and done, I don't know what I'll do with all my extra time. Maybe I'll start a modern _Northanger Abbey_. I have this horrible antipathy toward Catherine Moreland. Maybe if I write her more likeable I won't be tempted to burn my copy. Let me know what you think of the chapter and any ideas for the future! As always, I love to see what you're all thinking!


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